Ties of Loyalty
by Unseen Watcher
Summary: No one messes with Hiko Seijurou the 13th. All of Japan knows that. Too bad they didn't tell the foreigners. Hiko's hurt. Kenshin's torqued. Rating raised for maimings and body count. FINISHED! Whee! It's a Miracle! [slight correction]
1. Chapter 1

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Disclaimer. Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me. It belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki and various others. I'm not getting any profit out of this. Please don't sue. All I have are old socks. Do you Really want them? Oh by the way. In this story I make up a definition for Shishou. It's just to support my story, DON'T take it seriously!  
  
I got a request for my chapter stories. Be warned, I truly stink at updating.  
  
German  
  
"Translated Japanese"  
  
#English#  
  
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Seijurou Hiko stepped out of his favorite sake shop. It was on the outskirts of Kyoto, allowing him to get his supplies without having to encounter too many people.  
  
"Thank you for doing business with me, Kakunoshin-san. You're my most loyal customer!" Called out the shop's owner, a plain but honest older man Hiko had gotten to know from his many years of patronage of the place.  
  
Hiko raised one hand in an idle wave over his shoulder. The other hand held the rope attached to his new sake jug. "Always a pleasure, Hashimoto- san." He called back. "You keep stocking good sake and I'll keep buying it."  
  
"Works for me!" Laughed the merchant. He had long grown used to Hiko's casual attitude. It wasn't often that you met a man with a presence such as his and are still able to be at ease with him. But then, Kakunoshin-san seemed a mass of contradictions. A potter by appearances, a deadly swordsman in truth. Hashimoto-san had learned that early on when someone had tried to rob his store at the same time Hiko decided to stop by. The stunned looks on the bullies' faces as they were taken out like so much garbage was a memory that still brought a grin to his weathered face.  
  
Hashimoto-san frowned slightly, surveying his store. He hoped his most valued customer would like the sake. A new deliveryman had brought it this time, one he didn't know. No telling what some inexperienced fool would do to the taste of the drink if they were too clumsy handling it.  
  
**  
  
Hiko strode purposefully up the path home. There was little to do nowadays besides pottery, practice, and enjoying sake, but that didn't make it unimportant. He had long ago lost his taste for running around every which way in search of adventure. In his experience, enough of it found you all by itself.  
  
He enjoyed his time away from civilization and its troubles. All those untrained auras and their swirling emotions were enough to give a man a migraine. Give him the calm presence of trees and animals any day.  
  
Speaking of which, he abruptly felt a presence at the edge of his awareness. He showed no sign of his immediate alertness in his posture or pace, though he allowed his eyes to narrow slightly. Then the feeling was gone and he mentally shrugged. Could have been a wanderer or even someone out on a walk. Well, as long as they left him alone he didn't care.  
  
Hiko frowned slightly. This wasn't the first time in recent days that he had felt others nearby. The woods seemed to be swarming with people lately.  
  
**  
  
The watcher put down the spyglass, eyes thoughtful. So that was him. He looked impressive, he'd give him that, but he shouldn't be too much trouble.  
  
The trees now obscured the target from view. It was time to report back anyway.  
  
Smirking confidently, he climbed down from his treetop station.  
  
**  
  
Later that night Hiko sat in his cottage, slowly sipping his new sake. Hmmm. There was a strange after-taste to it. It would have been undetectable to anyone who was not a true connoisseur of the drink. He'd have to have a talk with Hashimoto-san about it. Still, it was odd. In all this time, his old acquaintance had never failed to stock the best.  
  
Gently swirling the liquid, he took another sip. It wasn't bad, really. Finishing the cup, he added more from the jug.  
  
**  
  
In the shadows of the trees, dark shapes moved forward. The glint of metal off gun barrels and the clink of bared steel was almost inaudible. Stealthily, the circle slowly converged on the clearing where the cottage stood.  
  
**  
  
Hiko blinked. Everything seemed slightly fuzzier than normal. It couldn't be the sake. It didn't affect him all that much anymore, and even then, he'd have to drink a lot whole more than he had to feel this disoriented. It seemed herder to focus his thoughts than normal at the moment.  
  
He felt leaden and weighed down, the walls pressing in on him. Deciding that he just needed some fresh air, he stood, swaying slightly as the sudden movement sent blood rushing from his head. Hiko frowned. His control had wavered slightly, something that was unacceptable by his standards. Walking carefully, he pushed aside the cloth he'd put up in place of the door he'd never bothered to replace and took a steadying breath of the night air.  
  
A whisper of sound and a slight movement out of the corner of his eye was all that saved him. Reacting with reflexes honed by decades of use, he ducked under the sword-thrust and grabbed the hilt of his Shirazaya Nihontou, all in one movement. The shadow went down with a gurgling scream, but Hiko was already well beyond his position.  
  
He hadn't bothered to hold back. Attackers in the night deserved no mercy.  
  
After several steps, he staggered slightly, his vision darkening more than the night allowed. He felt the beginnings of genuine alarm start to creep in. What was wrong with him? Had the sake . . .?  
  
Hiko scowled, a low growl sounding in his throat. To be challenged in an honorable fight was one thing, but only the lowest level of scum would mess with a man's sake.  
  
Looking up, he found himself surrounded by dark shapes. He hadn't even heard them creep up. His senses were so clouded by whatever they'd drugged him with that he couldn't even focus beyond his own body. This was not good.  
  
Two of them charged, swords flashing. He took care of them swiftly, noting angrily the minute sloppiness in his usually perfect swings.  
  
It was getting worse. His vision had started to blur and double, but there was no way he was going to allow these cowardly dogs to get the better of him. Concentrating, he flung himself into the fight, moving on instinct where sight and hearing failed.  
  
He was doing well when his mind registered the roar of falling water. His eyes narrowed as he went into a ready stance, the blade resting on the back of his left hand while he held the hilt in his right.  
  
He'd been so out of it that he hadn't realized that he was being led around by the nose, straight to the cliff edge overlooking the waterfall. The irritation he felt for being treated like some rank amateur would gladly be taken out on them.  
  
It was then that he noticed he was alone, and then heard the gunshot.  
  
****  
  
Himura Kenshin bolted upright on his futon, his sleeping yukata soaked in sweat.  Panting, his eyes were wide, the pupils contracted as he looked wildly around at the familiar darkness of his room. He sat there for a few minutes, getting his breathing back under control and trying to figure out what had awakened him.  His senses confirmed that all was well in the compound.  Everyone else was lost in peaceful slumber.  
  
Brushing damp red bangs impatiently away from his face, Kenshin concentrated on the feeling of intangible dread that threatened to choke him. Something was wrong; he felt it in his bones.  
  
Shifting on his futon, he reached out for his Sakabatou, looking down in surprise when his arm didn't immediately move to follow his mental command. He discovered the limb wrapped tightly across his ribs, the palm of his hand pressing down on his left side, as if over a wound.  
  
Troubled by fears he couldn't name, Kenshin got up and headed out of his room to check out the perimeter of the Dojo.

-----------------------  
  
I love connections, don't you? Well, if you're wondering my logic goes like this. Hiten Mitsurugi is a powerful sword art that uses ki a lot. As master and student, some type of spiritual connection was bound to develop. And lastly, there has never been two Hiten Mitsurugi masters living at one time, so the connection could only have been strengthened when Kenshin learned the final technique. Weak logic, but hey it's FICTION, not science. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ties of Loyalty

By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Standard disclaimer. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
----------------  
  
In a forest outside the city of Kyoto, several figures crouched on the lip of a ledge, futility trying to pierce through the darkness and distance with their vision to see to the foot of the waterfall below.  
  
Damn! We lost him. Did you have to shoot him off a cliff Schmidt? How the hell are we going to collect our prize if it's under several feet of spraying water?! One demanded irritably to another.  
  
Schmidt gazed back coolly at his partner. Dead eyes chilled the quick temper of the speaker, who grudgingly backed off. The named marksman smiled, the expression without humor or life.  
  
My job is to shoot, so I did. That was why you backed off in the first place, is that no so Herr Schuster? he answered in his whispery voice.  
  
They locked stares until another voice cut in, sounding disgusted. #Jeez, guys. Can't you speak a civilized language? I thought I told you to stop the throat noises already.#  
  
The new speaker had the sense to step back as two glares switched to him. He sweated slightly, but he managed to sneer back.  
  
#German is THE civilized tongue, Herr Smith. It is your English that ve have to twist our mouths around.# Schuster said haughtily.  
  
#Linguistics isn't the important topic here. What is of consequence is what happened to our quarry.# A fourth voice cut in smoothly, his accent more refined than the third. #We need to descend to the base of this natural phenomenon in order to ascertain his whereabouts. #  
  
His comments were met by a trio of blank looks and he sighed. #We need to go to the bottom of the waterfall to look for him. # He explained patiently. The confusion cleared.  
  
#I swear that ain't English. # Smith muttered as they turned to their guides. #Hey there! Hiroshi old buddy. You're supposed to know this place. Where do we go from here? #

*  
  
Masato Hiroshi smiled ingratiatingly, the slight rigidity of it lost on his foreign employers. His boss, the leader of the biggest yakuza organization in Kyoto, had told him to take good care of these strange men, along with their seemingly bottomless wallets. He silently cursed his luck for getting this assignment. He should never have learned that awful language.  
  
Hiroshi had already lost a dozen men in a matter of minutes. Their target was supposed to be drugged and disoriented. This was supposed to be easy.  
  
When these men had come to the boss asking about strong Japanese fighters they could take on, even the hardened yakuza boss had been put off by their strange request. Then they'd started flashing gold and promises. It hadn't taken him long to come around.  
  
The problem had been that there weren't that many warriors of note left around. Most had been killed in war or long ago retired their swords. There were some rumors that the Battousai himself had been spotted in Tokyo, but few believed them.  
  
Then one of his subordinates, a useless bum that was more often drunk than sober, had mentioned that he had seen a swordsman frequent one of the better sake shops. He'd noticed the sword under the big cape and asked the storeowner, after the guy had left, if he was any good . . .  
  
"The besht, he shaid boss, he shaid he was the besht. He shertainly was a big one. I wouldn't wanna get inna fight with that guy." He had slurred, grinning with what was left of his teeth after a lifetime of self-abuse.  
  
He didn't mention, because he hadn't been coherent enough to notice, that the sake proprietor had been backing away in disgust from the ripe-smelling slob, before booting him out for attempted shoplifting.  
  
Despite the dubious source of the info, the foreigners had been interested when the babble was translated. They got even more so when they caught their first sight of the large form of the kenjutsu master. He towered over the tallest of them, which was pretty high by Hiroshi's standards. They'd eagerly made arrangements for guides.  
  
The trouble started when they discovered that they couldn't get within sight of their prey without him noticing them. They couldn't even scout out the area for fear he'd detect their presence. This only encouraged the alien men, but it chilled Hiroshi's blood. Someone that good would not be easy to take down. The element of surprise was crucial, and they didn't even have that.  
  
When he'd tried to explain it to his new employers, they'd conferred and come up with their present plan. They'd learned he liked to drink. Well then, drug the drink. The one who talked in big words all the time, Spenculu-san, had guaranteed that it would be undetectable from the rest of the sake.  
  
That's when Hiroshi had realized that they weren't simply going to challenge the man. They were going to hunt him. Not above using nasty tricks in his behind the law dealings, even His stomach twisted at the idea of hunting a man like some sport animal. It was like some tale of a Shogun's eccentricities out of an Edo era tale.  
  
They'd had to drug an entire shipment in order to make sure their target got at least one of them, but figured most wouldn't notice. An average man, Spencer had assured them, would only seem to get drunk more rapidly than normal. Someone who needed to move quickly, however, would run into problems.  
  
So why hadn't this man?  
  
He'd moved with a speed that had been hard to follow at times. If he was slowed down at all by the drug, Hiroshi hadn't noticed it. The only reason he was alive now was because he'd hung back to watch.  
  
The idea of meeting up with him, especially after the drug's debilitating effects wore off, did not appeal to the nervous yakuza in the slightest.  
  
But back to the problem at hand. #Ah, sirs, the path is this way. It will be hard to see in the dark, so be careful. Should we not wait till day?# He asked hopefully.  
  
The one called Schmidt shook his head. #Too good. Go now while drug work.# He said in broken English, his expression leaving no room for argument. Hiroshi nodded glumly and led the way. He'd been afraid they'd say something like that. One of the men he brought, an old member of the yakuza, was muttering under his breath. Hiroshi hissed for silence. He couldn't wait for all of this to be over so he could get back to civilization.

--------------------

Interested so far? Review please! 


	3. Chapter 3

Ties of Loyalty

By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me. However, I'm still enjoying myself immensely. Don't sue please. I've spent all my money on your products.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
---------------------  
  


(2 days later)

  
Kenshin sat in a doorway, one foot propped up against a sliding door and one hand absently steadying the weapon against his shoulder.  Quietly, he watched the normal activities of the Dojo. He had long ago finished his chores, his body on automatic while his mind remained in troubled thought.  
  
Something was wrong. The certainty thrummed behind his eyes, jangling along his sensitive awareness in a silent shriek of warning. He knew that it involved him in some way, but he just couldn't make out what or how. The indistinctness of the problem was starting to make him edgy.  The last couple nights had brought neither answers nor rest.

 Eyes narrowing to annoyed slits, he mentally gave up and forced himself to go and join the others.  
  
  


**That Night**  
  
An occupant of the Kamiya Dojo twisted on his futon, his mind bombarded by images.  
  
*Darkness *Running *Tripping * Cursing * Hide *Need to hide for a while * Regain strength *Then revenge *Teach them what they're messing with *But for now rest *Side hurts *Push past the irritating distraction of pain *Anger *Disgust *Rage. * //WHERE ARE YOU?!//*  
  
Kenshin awoke to find himself against the opposite wall in a defensive stance, his sword drawn and ready.  Images still flashed through his mind. Darkness, pain, and blood mixed in with the feeling of being pursued, hunted. The rage still washed over him like a wave, and he found his lip curling up in a silent snarl as his eyes scanned the room. 

Empty, save for him.  
  
He wasn't reassured. This was no dream or delusion. He had been taught to never ignore what his senses told him, especially his warrior instincts. He never dismissed any possibility, no matter how unlikely. This very open-mindedness had been what allowed him to survive as long as he had.  
  
Kenshin closed his eyes, searching for his dream, stalking it like it was of wisp of smoke that would dissolve if he grasped it too tightly. After several long minutes, he let out a breath in exasperation. Nothing. He started to slide down the wall to sit to think a little when . . .  
  
**PAIN! **  
  
Kenshin sprung up as if shot off the floor. He grasped his head and reeled in mental agony as sensations not his own exploded through his senses. *Shapes in the darkness *The light of the moon glinting off a gun's muzzle *My white mantle wrapped tightly around me in an effort to ward off the barbs that stung like insect bites and brought a deadly lethargy to his limbs *  
  
As his mind cleared and the images and feeling faded, Himura Kenshin opened his eyes. Rage of his own making glittered in their slitted depths. Swiftly, he gathered what he needed, then located a scrap of paper and a writing tool. He scribbled a hurried message and was out of the Dojo and on his way by the time it floated down to the discarded quilt.  
  
He made one stop, at the clinic, then was on the next train headed for Kyoto.  
  
****  
  
#Where in this godforsaken country did that guy GO?! # Smith yelled in exasperation. He'd heard that the woods in Japan were delicate and manicured gardens. He had enough scratches and bruises to put to rest that particular lie.  
  
It seemed like they'd been going in circles all day. Only the occasional blood sign gave them any hope that they were getting anywhere.  
  
#You must be patient, Smith. It would not be worth the chase if we found our quarry easily. # Spencer said calmly. Smith glared at the man, in particular at the funny looking gun he kept with him.  
  
#Are you sure those darts of yours are doing the trick? We've caught sight of him twice and I think you managed to hit him both times. You said he'd be out like a light with just one! #  
  
#He is a very stubborn individual. # Spencer answered, unmoved. #My tranquilizers are slowing him down, believe me. #  
  
#Vill you two shut up? I'm trying to listen, please! # Schuster snapped at them, silencing the two bickering men.  
  


*

  
Hiroshi breathed a sigh of relief. Finally they were quiet. The day had not gone well. He knew these woods, but it was now abundantly clear that their target knew them better. He'd been sure more than once that they had him boxed in, only to close in and find nothing.  
  
His men weren't helping. The old one talked to the others, the situation obviously reminding the old half-wit of dark days gone by.  He whispering horror tales of the Bakumatsu and the deadly ambushes he had heard of. The worst ones were of the Battousai, the Red Demon. One tale he seemed particularly fond of was of how he was once supposed to have gone with a troop of over two dozen men to try and capture him, but had taken ill and had to be left behind. He'd heard later that they had all been killed, each with a single sword stroke. He whimpered as he told this to the increasingly edgy younger yakuza, intensifying their unease to borderline paranoia. They now jumped at every sound, shooting a lot of wildlife and trees with their bows and handguns.  
  


*

  
#It's no use listenin' for him. The man walks like a caped ghost. # Smith spoke again, shattering the silence. He was sick of waiting around. It was time for some action!  
  
Schuster threw a look of pure venom his way, but the American was unmoved. The man seemed a bit on edge out here. It was unknown country and the demolitionist had nothing to throw his bombs at but trees and rocks. Their prey could be anywhere.  
  
Spencer looked up from his study of the ground. #He went this way. # He said firmly, pointing to the left. All Smith saw was more trees. He sighed.  
  
#Well, let's get going before it gets dark again. # He said, resignedly trudging ahead and keeping his rifle clear of overhanging twigs.  
  
**  
  
A shadowed form peered down at the arguing group from his perch on a sturdy branch of one of the towering trees. His dark blue gi was gone, torn into strips and wrapped tightly around his ribs. His head was finally starting to clear, but slowly. Too slowly. He had stayed ahead of them thus far, and even had they the intelligence to look up, it was doubtful that they'd see him. He had discarded the mantle. Part of its purpose, aside from restraint, was in allowing opponents to see him from a distance, so as to give them fair warning.  
  
He would give no such courtesy to the human refuse below him. His movements were no longer confined by the weighted cloak. They would now face him at his full strength and power.  
  
That is, as soon as this blasted fog cleared from his mind.  
  
Far off in the distance, he heard a songbird call. The wildlife had long ago grown silent at the intrusion of the noisy hunting party, which had been an extra help in warning his muffled senses to their approach.  
  
But this particular bird caught the attention of the man who had lived in this forest for decades. There was a nuance of challenge in its song that should not have been there this late in the year.  
  


*

  
Hiko found himself smiling in grudging approval. He firmly squashed the sensation of relief he suddenly felt. Patiently, he waited until his pursuers wandered out of hearing range, and replied.  
  
Mere minutes later a small bright-haired shape materialized from the forest, leaping through the canopy, until he came to a stop on the branch beside the larger resident of the tree. Crouching down, violet eyes unable to hide their concern, the newcomer examined the other's battered condition minutely, noting the rough bandages and slightly unfocused gaze.  
  
Their eyes met, and some sort of acknowledgement seemed to pass between them. This was neither the time nor place for personality clashes. They had business to attend to.  
  
Hiko's eyes flicked briefly in the direction the hunters had gone, and Kenshin nodded. He inclined his head, indicating the other's wounds. Hiko shrugged, an action that he immediately regretted.  
  


*

  
Kenshin made no move to support him, knowing the gesture wouldn't be well received. Instead, he contemplated where to take his master to let him recover a bit from his injured and obviously drugged state. An idea formed and his lips quirked slightly. Getting the larger man's attention, he made a few signals, gesturing to the both of them and jerking his head back toward where he'd come.  
  
Hiko's eyebrow's rose, his expression clearly showing that he thought his former pupil had lost his mind. The redhead simply smiled softly, the darkening of his eyes and their silent promise of pain for those responsible belying the seemingly gentle look.  
  
Hiko rolled his own eyes, but returned the look and didn't protest when Kenshin came to support his uninjured side when he moved to rise. Carefully, they made their way through the trees.

------------------------  
  
HeeHee! I LOVE connections! Oh, if you want more I'd appreciate suggestions on how to torture the bad guys. Types of traps and mental torture specifically. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Disclaimer: No own Rurouni Kenshin. No own nothing. Leave 'lone, or Hulk Smash!  
  
------------  
  
The setting sun illuminated a small clearing in the forest, casting gold and red shadows over the small hut and the kiln that rested there. The crickets were just starting up their nightly song when two figures stepped into the open.  
  
The taller one strode ahead, his shoulders back and head high. Only someone who knew him well would have noted the subtle stiffness in his stride and the slight hesitation in his steps, as if he wasn't sure where the ground was under his feet.  
  
His smaller companion followed closely, trying unsuccessfully not to look like he was ready to jump forward any second if the other so much as stumbled.  
  
Hiko scowled, tossing an annoyed look over his shoulder. Unfortunately, it took his vision a bit longer to follow and he nearly tripped over a stray bucket in his path. Kenshin was by his side in a instant, steadying him as his former master sucked in his breath and tried not to wince at the pull the sudden movement had caused on his ribs.  
  
"I'm fine! Quit mothering!" He whispered harshly. His mood soured further as the fact that he had to speak quietly in his own home fully registered.  
  
"Hai, Shishou." Kenshin whispered back, looking slightly wounded at the reception to his help. Hiko caught the expression even through the haze that still clung to his vision and sighed. "The house is that way." He said, gesturing in the vague direction of his hut. Kenshin glanced at it then him. He carefully repressed the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he got the veiled hint. He went toward it, slowly, Hiko following closely behind.  
  
Inside the small interior, Kenshin moved to the large chest used to store extra cloth and tugged it aside, revealing a trap door. Pulling it up, he gazed into the small cellar that had been dug out by his master long ago in order to store and cool vegetables and his extra sake jugs.  
  
"I'd like to know how you found out about this." His master grumbled, his voice nearer normal with the muffling walls around them. Kenshin fidgeted guiltily under the other's stare.  
  
"You made me clean this place from top to bottom often enough. I was bound to discover it sooner or later." He said defensively, suddenly feeling like a little boy that had been caught in a prank. Hiko could make a rock feel guilty.  
  
Hiko snorted. "You were young and, impossible as it sounds, even smaller than you are now. It would have taken a lot of effort to move that chest. You weren't the type to go above and beyond in your chores." He was surprised at how much he was enjoying this little interrogation. Teasing Kenshin had always been fun, and it was helping now to lighten his mood and salve his wounded ego.  
  
Kenshin looked up, mouth open to say something in his defense, but stopped as he noted the glimmer of humor in his master's eyes. Hiko could keep a straight face through just about any situation Kenshin had seen him in. That he would let true emotion show through now was both startling and somewhat alarming to his student. Was he sick?  
  
Noticing the concern that had once again entered those large violet eyes, Hiko rolled his own. "I always wondered where all that dust you swept up went." He said, diverting the redhead's attention back to defense. Ignoring the other's embarrassed sputtering, he looked down into the narrow darkness. He was not looking forward to hiding down there like a trapped animal. But then, that's what he'd been the last few days. He tamped down on his rising anger, focusing instead on the present. First things first.  
  
Carefully, Hiko sunk down into a sitting position, legs dangling down into the hole. He was about to lower himself down when a small hand fell on his shoulder. Irritated at any delay (he wanted to get this over with), he looked up at his student.  
  
Looked up. Now there was a switch.

*  
  
Kenshin met his master's dark eyes steadily and in answer reached into his gi, pulling out the bandages and medicine he had borrowed from Dr. Genzai's clinic. Hiko's eyebrows rose, surprise flickering briefly over his face. How had. . .?  
  
For that matter, how had Kenshin known to come? He hadn't taken the time to consider that it was quite a coincidence for the younger samurai to be in the area just at this time.  
  
Caught up in his puzzled thoughts, he didn't protest when Kenshin gestured for him to lie down so his wounds could be better treated. The redhead carefully peeled away the dark blue strips, trying as best he could not to tear the wound open again. He winced slightly as he caught sight of it. It wouldn't become serious if it was tended. Hiko had done a good job of treating it temporarily, but Kenshin still wished he could get his master to a doctor.  
  
It was a bullet wound. The slug had gone through his torso and exited the other side. Kenshin prayed it hadn't hit any vital organs, and was encouraged by the fact that the signs showed that wasn't the case. Using the skills he had learned from the man before him, what he had learned in the war, and even more so from watching Megumi and Dr. Genzai, he tended to the wound.  
  
Hiko didn't flinch, but that was no surprise to Kenshin. The man wouldn't have admitted he was in pain if he'd had a dozen sword wounds. Kenshin only hoped that whatever drug was running through his system helped to dull it. He'd brought disinfectant but hadn't thought to grab any anesthetic. Hoping to distract the older man, he asked what had happened.  
  


*

Hiko looked up at his student, gauging his probable response, then mentally sighed and decided to go for blunt. He was tired from lack of sleep and loss of blood, and still disoriented. Now was not the time for games. He spoke softly, recounting events from the sake shop to the present, leaving out nothing; including the increasing number of people in the woods lately, and of the conversations he'd overhead in the trees.  
  
By the time he was finished Kenshin was done too, tying off the last swath of cloth. His ribs were bound tightly, restricting movement. Hiko sat up, testing his mobility. Inspecting his student's handiwork, he felt a grudging approval. "Nice job." He admitted.  
  
Kenshin looked surprised, then pleased. His master rarely complimented anyone, especially him, and then only when it was well deserved. Kenshin cleaned up the remains of his supplies and went over and opened the repositioned chest. Getting out a fresh gi, he handed it to his master.  
  
As Hiko eased the cloth over his shoulder's he spoke, not looking up. "My turn. Why are you here?" He sensed Kenshin stiffen and looked up, his onyx eyes piercing even through the fog that now seemed a permanent resident on his senses. "How did you know. . .?" he trailed off, looking as sternly as he could at the redhead.  
  
Kenshin frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side, a puzzled look entering his eyes. Still thoughtful, he sat down in his usual position, his sword on his shoulder, looking down. Finally, he looked back up, and met the older man's gaze.  
  
"I, I'm not sure Shishou." He said, answering the other's half-spoken question. "These last few nights I've been having dreams. Different from normal. Last night I . . ." he paused and took a breath, looking into his master's eyes and hoping he wouldn't think he was crazy. ". . .I just KNEW that you were in trouble. So I came." He finished, knowing it sounded lame.  
  
Hiko studied his former student, turning the story over in his mind. The tale raised some interesting implications, and confirmed some of his own suspicions. He'd have to think on it, but for now he kept his speculations to himself. "You came all the way from Tokyo?" He asked. 

Kenshin nodded. "I jumped the train." He admitted, ducking his head sheepishly.  
  
Hiko regarded the lowered bright-haired head. His expression was soft for a fleeting instant before returning to his normal impassive manner.  
  
"Good night." Hiko said by way of dismissal, swinging his legs back through the hole. Kenshin stood up quickly. There had been something in his master's eyes. . . He didn't ask, knowing Hiko would talk when and if he wanted, but he was still curious. At least he'd believed him.  
  
*  
  
Kenshin felt daring enough to help Hiko ease down into the cellar. His master didn't protest. As an afterthought, Kenshin grabbed an extra blanket and handed it down. There would be plenty of food there already.  
  
Leaving the trap door open for air, he pushed the chest in front of it, hiding it from immediate view from anyone looking through the doorway.  
  
With one final glance at his master's location, Kenshin walked through the doorway. As he stepped through, a subtle change came over him, his very posture altering mid-step as he went from passive to hunting mode with the ease that only hard experiece could bring. Glancing around, he again noted the position of everything, more closely studying the footprints on the soil, and carefully erasing the evidence of his own and his master's return. He had left the bodies of the fallen where they were. No trace must be left of his passage. The hunters must not know of his presence. Yet.  
  
Once he reached the trees, he paused to get his bearings. Years of silent warfare kept his mouth shut, but internally he was making up new and inventive oaths, mostly involving certain hunters in rather painful situations. He had managed to keep calm throughout the recitation of the events, but now he allowed his cheerful mask to slip, revealing an angry and very dangerous man.  
  
The warrior started to move, not even a leaf disturbed by his passing. He headed for the light that signaled the location of the enemy's encampment.  
  
***  
  
Night had settled once again over the mountain, illuminated only by the sliver of the waning moon and the light of a fire set in a small clearing. The forest was silent, but inside the camp it was a different story.  
  
#Where could he be?! No way we coulda missed him. He's over six-foot and wearing white for crying out loud! # Smith was grumbling, his limited patience exhausted after a day of chasing false trails. They'd killed a few rodents and reduced the bird population a bit, but they were no closer to their real target.  
  
#There are big trees. Lots of hiding spots. He could have taken the coat off. # Schuster spoke up, speaking slowly as if to a particularly slow and tiresome child. Smith shot him a look, reaching down to finger the six shooters that were a part of his 'rough and ready' image. He'd had to smuggle them into the country, but had seemed to lose them in transit. He'd found them that afternoon at the bottom of Spencer's pack after he mistook it for his. He'd been giving everyone the evil eye since.  
  
#Would you kindly refrain from bickering for a few hours? In my opinion it has been a rather long day, and I wish to retire in peace. # Spencer spoke up from across the fire, a slight hint of irritation showing through his usually bland manner.  
  
#So who's stoppin' ya?! # Smith retorted, hoping to pick a fight. But all he got was one of those blasted superior looks before the other turned in. #Why me? # Smith moaned to the world in general. What had he ever done to be stuck with this bunch of kooks? He'd met them all in a bar in California, and had thought they'd be kind of fun to hang out with. Boy had he been wrong, and now he was stuck with them only-heaven-knew-how-far from home.

*  
  
Hiroshi approached the group cautiously, sensing the mood. #Excuse sirs. # He said tentatively. Smith cast him a bored glance while Schuster ignored him entirely. Spencer didn't move from his spot on the ground. Hiroshi forced himself to swallow his pride and irritation at being treated so by foreigners, managing to keep his voice mild. #Would like okay to send for more men. Lost many before. Need more. #  
  
Smith waved his hand idly in a dismissive gesture. #Fine, fine. The more the merrier I guess. Sent someone to fetch some extra cronies. #  
  
Hiroshi nodded, head lowered and his expression obscured. #Send for first thing in morning. # he replied.  
  
#Why not now? It's not as though they have much else to do. # Smith said, indicating the seven or more men left that were now taking sentry posts or trying unsuccessfully to get some sleep.  
  
Hiroshi swallowed. Leave alone at night on the Haunted Mountain? No one could be paid enough for the job. Vehemently, he shook his head. #No, morning. # he stated firmly. Smith shrugged, turning his attention to the warmth of the large fire before him. #Suit yourself. # he said. As Hiroshi bowed and turned to leave he added. #Hey Heeroshi, you seen Schmidt around? #  
  
Hiroshi again shook his head, knowing this meant no to them. #No sir. Sorry. # he replied. As he hurried back to the outer camp, he couldn't suppress a slight shiver between his shoulder blades at the thought of not knowing where the cold-blooded marksman was.  
  
**  
  
A small shadow attached itself to one of the trees surrounding the large camp. Veiled eyes surveyed the scene, noting the placement of the foreign leaders in the middle around the main fire, and little more than half a dozen locals surrounding them. The hired help seemed to be a bit more huddled than their confident looking employers. He also noted that one of the four described to him was missing. The deadliest, according to his master.  
  
Looking around warily, he spotted the man several feet from the camp, hidden from all view but his own practiced sight. He wouldn't have noticed him at all if it weren't for the slight glint of light off his gun. The shadow's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the marksman, who was looking around suspiciously, as though sensing something. Any emotions he detected were cold, and calculating. Deadly, indeed.  
  
Finally the man returned to camp, and he let himself relax slightly. The men were talking amongst themselves, and he carefully edged closer to overhear, finding a spot on a branch just above them.  
  
He listened, and his eyebrows rose. They were telling stories, most of which he hadn't even heard of. In his present state of mind, he couldn't help but be amused by the exaggerations. *Now, now. * He mentally chided them after a particularly dubious story. *I never did THAT . . . I'd never have gotten any sleep if I kept peering into all the windows in Kyoto. *  
  
Chuckling internally at his own idle thoughts, he melted back into the forest. It was only a few hours until morning, and he had things to do. Those tales had given him a few ideas.

-----------------------

Surprise! No, I haven't died, I've just been in kind of a funk. Slightly listless. Playing Final Fantasy VII. I don't like writing unless I can actually picture the scenes in my mind. Which means I sometimes need to have paper on hand and write it down fast before an idea runs away from me! Still having trouble with this one. I guess I just suck at strategy. So much for RPG's. I want everything to connect! To have a good plot, and conclusion! I want it to make sense! Bizarre, yes, but it's a little quirk I have. Thanks to my sister, brother, and especially my dad for ideas. Thanks too to all the people who've been giving me ideas in reviews that I can't mention 'cause I haven't asked their permission to yet. Oh, and this chapter is basically an interlude. I like interludes too. Not too many, as you can lose sight of the story that way, but enough where you're not left stranded wondering how the heck the characters got to the next scene! 


	5. Chapter 5

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Disclaimer: I do hereby deny all ownership of Rurouni Kenshin and all the characters therein. It belongs to Watsuki-sama and whoever else can claim it legally. However, I make few apologies for my version of events, seeing as how anyone who actually takes this seriously needs a major reality check and some therapy. It took a while just to get up the nerve to write. Asking me to turn back now would be rather mean.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
------------------------  
  
The next morning, scouts were sent out to survey the area, looking for signs of the passage of their elusive target. A man had been sent out at dawn to gather reinforcements for their depleted ranks. He'd been more than happy to leave.  
  
On the edge of the trees encircling their camp, unseen eyes surveyed the searchers' movements. Unfortunately, he had not arrived in time to notice the departure of the messenger.  
  
Barely an hour into their search, two of the men heard a yell of surprise. They rushed toward the source of the commotion, making a lot of noise as they forced their way through the thick underbrush.  
  
They couldn't find him until they thought to look down. There was a natural gully leading around a stand of trees. At the bottom of it sat their missing cohort, his face pale and his left foot held firmly in the wooden jaws of an animal trap. From the blood that seeped between the teeth of the thing and the angle of his leg, it was obvious that it was broken.  
  
The two men shook their heads. Only a complete baka would fall for something set for a wild animal. Irritated by the delay and letting the injured man know it by the taunts they threw at him, they easily opened the trap. Two more men arrived at the commotion, and it was decided that one would help the fool back to camp. The man, in pain and feeling rather resentful, hobbled away while leaning heavily on the man that supported him.  
  
Thinking nothing of the incident other than the random stupidity of a moron, the three moved on with their task.  
  
Down the trail, Smith witnessed the two men's retreat, and spat in disgust. # I feel like we're in the middle of the most inept game of hide and seek in the history of the world! # he groused. # We're ALL it and there's only one guy to find.#  
  
Spencer spoke up from a few feet away, scanning the woods as he did so. # Except when you're found, you don't have the option of home base.# he added, his voice devoid of humor.  
  
Smith threw him a sour look, and resignedly trudged ahead.  
  
*  
  
The first scouts accident was only the beginning. More things the foreigners labeled as 'inconvenient' or 'coincidence' started to pop up.  
  
A large tree branch that had been mysteriously bent back suddenly whipped out just as a man was passing, hitting him full in the chest. A pile of fallen logs that looked like they had been brought down in a windstorm became a tumbling slide of timber without warning, leaving one man with a battered body and a broken leg. It soon seemed that cries of surprise were trying to replace birdsong as the most frequent noise in the area.  
  
By the time they stopped for the day, only four of the seven men under Hiroshi's command were able to sit up without assistance. It didn't help the solidity of the camp that their employers openly blamed it on their clumsiness and incompetence. Growing resentment against the arrogant invaders of their previously routine existence nearly caused the whole group to split apart altogether. It was only the threats and promises of Hiroshi, along with the fear of being shot in the back, that persuaded them to move on.  
  
Thanksfully, before the sun had set the man sent to bring reinforcements was back, bringing two dozen fresh men with him. This cheered everyone up immensely, and watches were set with lighter hearts.  
  
The camp had just settled when there was a terrified scream. Nerves that had just begun to unwind, tightened instantly. There was a rush to see what was going on, and a man was found cowering away from his sleep roll. After some poking, they found a snake had somehow found its way into the warm cloth. One man, born and bred in the country, identified it as a rat snake; completely harmless. The owner of the bed, who was city-bred, grumbled above the jeers about the barbaric countryside. This set off a fight between the two men, ending only when Hiroshi rushed over and broke it up.  
  
The incident set off a chain reaction as nerves still wound from the day transferred into short tempers and petty quarreling.  
  
*  
  
At the inner camp around their fire, Spencer looked up, his expression bored. # I wish that lot would shut up. Some of us want to get a bit of rest before tomorrow. #  
  
#Too bad SOME of us won't get any rest either way with the way you roar in the night, Spence.# Smith said sarcastically from his bedroll on the other side of the fire. His already short temper had quickly deteriorated and now he sniped at anyone within range. Spencer ignored him as usual, which didn't help matters. The two Germans ignored the both of them.  
  
So it was that two disgruntled and divided groups made it through the night.  
  
**  
  
At dawn, scouts again spread out, looking for signs and watching their feet. Lack of sleep had not improved the general mood.  
  
Spencer noted that Schmidt was again missing. Schuster shrugged. # He has his own vays.# he said in answer to the looks thrown his way. # He vill go off by himself and you von't see him till he vants you to.#  
  
#Well that's just peachy. # Smith muttered, casting furtive looks around him. #I would kinda like to know where the cold-blooded SOB is, 24-7. The space between my shoulder blades itches when that guy's out of sight.#  
  
Schuster smirked, his eyes alight with ghoulish amusement. #Vhy? Have you done somesing to offend him?#  
  
Smith answered with a distracted glare and turned away, muttering about foreigners.  
  
*  
  
Meanwhile, a scout named Ichiro was following a small forest trail he had happened upon. It wound faintly through several stands of trees. Several minutes had passed since he had seen another person, and the silence and feeling of exposure was making him edgy. It was just his luck to be in sight when the recruiter had come back to headquarters for 'volunteers'. He could be in Kyoto right now, relaxing with his friends at their favorite bar. Instead, he was hiking around the Haunted Mountain, chasing the eccentric hermit that was rumored to live on it. The number of fatalities he had heard about and the wounded that groaned in camp wasn't helping his confidence level either. Still, it was certain death if he defied a yakuza boss.  
  
However, he was beginning to wonder if the chance of the swift one he'd get back home would be better than the fate he might face out here.  
  
He was brought out of his gloomy reflections as his eyes caught sight of the partial indentation of a heel pressed into the moist soil of the trail. Grinning at his discovery, he called back toward where he thought the others were, turning as he shouted.  
  
A coil of some sort of vine caught his eyes as it dropped past him to land with a dull thump in front of him on the forest floor. He had just enough time to look down at it in puzzlement before it twitched toward him. In one quick movement it tightened around his ankles, snapping his legs together and revealing itself to be a length of rope, in a slipknot. His feet were abruptly pulled out from under him, his arms flailing as he desperately sought his balance, before landing on his back hard enough to blast the air from his lungs.  
  
Through the rushing sound of blood through his ears and his own gasps for breath, he though he heard a soft whistle, and the sound of something solid hitting something else with a rather meaty smack.  
  
There was a guttural squeal, and the unfortunate Ichiro was being pulled across the ground at impressive speed, dragged by a rather indignant porcine who had until then been enjoying a nap in the shade. Had Ichiro been able to scramble the thought to lift his head from being bounced along the forest floor, he would have noted that at the other end of his predicament was attached to a rather large, increasingly angry wild boar.  
  
Unfortunately, he had other concerns at the moment. Bumping along heels over head, he flung his arms up in a desperate attempt to protect his face and keep from rolling over. Branches clawed at him as he was repeatedly slammed into trees and hauled through bushes as the pig wove and dodged through the underbrush. Torn again from their leafy embrace, his unwilling captor charged desperately away from all the crashing noises behind it.  
  
Had he looked up, he might have caught a glimpse of a figure moving through the tree branches, racing ahead of them.  
  
The boar ran, its' grunts and squeals echoing through the forest. But it wasn't confused enough not to feel the shift in the air. Lifting its snout, it sniffed loudly. Snorting, it burst through a last clump of bushes that bordered a treeless slope. Without pause, it made a sharp turn to its left, charging back into the forest, at the same time something sharp and metallic came whistling out of the trees, severing the rope cleanly in half.  
  
The forest pig took off, but its former passenger kept going, shooting out of the woods and continuing down the rather conveniently mud-slicked incline. The ground quickly steepened under the helpless man's back. He was now bruised, battered, and disoriented. All his befuddled brain could make out was that the forest seemed to be roaring ahead of him.  
  
He found out why when he shot over a deep ravine like a rock released from a slingshot. He had just enough time for a really good scream before he hit the water at the bottom of the falls.  
  
*  
  
Several of his cohorts had heard his cries, and come crashing to the scene. The first few were just in time to witness his unwilling plunge into the water. The horrified spectators were nearly shoved over the edge themselves as the latecomers jostled them from behind.  
  
Amidst pushing and swearing, the men edged away from the sheer drop. A combination of the primitive fears of heights and drowning rose up with invisible talons to claw at their guts and shred their reserve. Screaming, they ran back toward where they'd come.  
  
A few didn't make it back to camp, falling into various pits and snares that they had missed before in their previous caution. In their mad dash toward metaphorical safety, they weren't as careful. Each pit was angled expertly in order to maximize the possibility of broken bones. Each snare caught at their flailing limbs, or snapped ribs like twigs with the force of their release.  
  
The ragtag group of survivors that finally descended on the camp was a mass of hysteria.  
  
It took an hour of shouted threats and a volley of gunshots fired in the air from Smith's handguns before they calmed down enough to listen. Then they demanded to leave, the threat of rebellion looming over the campsite like a dark cloud. However, it was already near sunset, and not even the most determined would dare to venture out into the darkness to face the death trap the mountain had become.  
  
As the light dimmed, the various trap victims that were able limped or crawled into camp. Double watches were set, the sentries twitching at the slightest rustle of leaves in the trees that now seemed to loom threateningly over the camp.  
  
A few whispered that the swordsman was the guardian spirit of the mountain, and that not one of them would leave there alive. Hands tightened on weapons as the story traveled by word of mouth from fire to fire.  
  
But hours passed, and nothing happened. Starting to feel a bit sheepish for jumping at shadows like children, the men settled down a bit more. Soon jokes were tossed around the fires, as men made light of their panicked reactions.  
  
*  
  
One man returned to his spot near a fire well away from the border of camp with water for tea. It was just what was needed to soothe away the cares of the day. Hearing the jokes, he added his own, sitting down and preparing to boil the water.  
  
The foreigners had long ago retired, with only a few further complaints about the still absent Schmidt.  
  
Jokes evolved into bravado as each man relaxed in the secure feeling of being near a fire, surrounded by people. The tea man took the now bubbling water off the coals, groping for the tea mix he had placed by his side. Not finding it, he was about to turn and look for it when a hand came into his vision, the tea bag outstretched. Absently thanking the owner, he set about preparing it, inhaling the aroma gratefully.  
  
Bravado had evolved into bluster, as every man told his neighbor just what he would do to that annoying recluse once they found him in the morning. The tea was ready, and passed around the fire. Compliments were sent the first man's way for the excellent taste, which he traditionally declined.  
  
A few minutes later, and there were calls for more, the voices of the solicitors somewhat slurred. The man blinked, reaching unsteadily for the tea bag. The fire before him shifted strangely in his sight, the outline of it blurring in and out. Frowning, he tasted the tea. Something was strange about it. "Hey, this tastes a bit like sake." He managed to get out.  
  
"It is." A low voice said, its' calm, precise tones cutting through the scattered chatter with the precision of a surgeon. Chills went up the spines of even the most out of it among them. Heads turned, and peered at the speaker. The first man looked to his right, to the one who had given him the tea mix.  
  
The face was shadowed by the angle of the fire, but a brief flicker of the dancing flames illuminated it for a brief instant. The darkness had reduced the bright red hair to the color of old blood, but it still seemed to glow in the light that caught its highlights. The high topknot it was currently in emphasized the shape of the face, sharpening the already narrow features and drawing attention to the large, golden eyes that glowed in the night like the orbs of a mythical dragon.  
  
The apparition smiled, soundlessly rising from a casual crouch to his feet. The movement was so fluid that the drugged men blinked, unsure that he hadn't been standing in the first place.  
  
The redhead slowly and dramatically slid his sword from its sheath, raising the blade to hover in front of his face, drawing the eyes of the men with it. The steel nearly touching his nose, the firelight shone along the sharp inward curve of the edge of the blade, catching the reflection of one hard amber eye.  
  
Battousai smiled coldly, his voice soft when he spoke, though all at the fire heard it clearly. "Leave this mountain, while you can. The choice is yours. Go before it is too late." The blade shifted with a negligible flick of his wrist, causing the light to reflect brightly off its surface, briefly dazzling the gaping group. When the spots cleared, there was no one there.  
  
*  
  
The night was momentarily silent, save for soft murmurs and the chirping of crickets.  
  
Then the camp erupted like a mound of disturbed ants.  
  
*  
  
Himura watched from the trees. Men scrambled around, most unsure of what was happening and tripping over objects and running into each other in the dim illumination of their fires and the stars. Frantically, they searched for whatever foe threatened them now.  
  
Eventually, the camp once again settled down, save for the unfortunate group he had picked to begin the next phase of his plan. They were being reamed out by a sharp-faced man whom he had noted as the apparent leader of the locals. From his expressions, it was obvious that he didn't believe their story. The fact that they were acting quite drunk did not help their credibility. One of the men from the inner camp go up, awakened by the noise and not happy about it. Soon the two men were having a heated argument, each fingering their weapons.  
  
Kenshin allowed himself a slight smile. The last two days had been strange. He had never really acted this way before. While it was true that the situation was not entirely alien to him, his use of strategy was. In his hitokiri days, he had been the target of many such groups out to kill him. At the time, he had gone for the quickest and most efficient way of getting rid of them. In other words, charge in headlong and slaughter the lot. He'd had neither the time nor the inclination to linger in his battles.  
  
This situation was somewhat different. Now he had to stall for time. This game of cat and mouse had to be drawn out long enough for his master to recover somewhat. The older swordsman would NOT be pleased if Kenshin finished before he could get some of his own back.  
  
Kenshin had no qualms about taking the hired help out, but he knew that the four foreign yarous belonged to Hiko.  
  
His smile widened. He really was enjoying himself. True, there was a part of him that winced at the pain he was deliberately inflicting, but that was more than mollified by the outrage he still felt at their actions. They had invaded his childhood home, in his memory a fortress of solitude against the world. Worse still, they had dared to hurt the one person who had taken the trouble to protect a lost child and train him to be able to defend himself and others. A little pain was the least he wanted to hand them.  
  
He was also surprised by how easy it was to resist the idea of killing them. He was angry, but since he was restrained from not immediately acting on it, he had time to think. The tactical mind he had used so often in up-close fights was not channeling his energies into strategy. His control Had wavered at times, a part of him wanting to abandon the shadows and charge forward. But for the most part, he was able to find a harmony between caution and battle-instinct that secretly amazed him. He had not thought such an accord between his two natures possible. His mind was not clouded with doubts. He had no need to hold back in his punishment. Killing wasn't necessary or needed. Corpses couldn't warn other fools away as well as live witnesses would.  
  
He was also not alone in this fight. He had taken the time to talk to the sake shop owner, and the man had been more than happy to contribute to the cause, once he found out what they had done to his merchandise. He had donated several jugs of his defiled product. Drugging their tea was only the beginning of Kenshin's plans for ironic retribution with those objects. Then there was his master. Hiko would not sit idle for long, wound or no. He was a very solid backup that eased some of the tenseness Himura felt in working against the odds.  
  
So here he was, more or less wading up to his neck in his darker side, and experiencing an exhilarating sense of freedom in the action. Killing would only ruin things. He knew this state of mind wouldn't last forever, and he wanted to be able to live with himself afterwards. The image of a smiling group of friends, particularly that of a face containing the gentle blue eyes of a fiery young woman, helped to temper his more lethal instincts even more.  
  
Nevertheless, he had no qualms about doing some major damage to the thrill- seekers below him. He'd insure that they got a lot more than they had bargained for. Playtime was over. They now had only two choices: Leave willingly or on a stretcher.  
  
By the time he was done, it would be generations before anyone dared set foot on this mountain again.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Tah-dah! I hope you like it! Don't worry. Less traps, more Hiten Mitsurugi in the next chapter. I finally have a firm grip on this story, so the next one should come a lot sooner. a mass of skeptical looks from the readers *pouts * Really! Honest! mutters I hope. Anyway, some acknowledgements are in order. Thanks again to my patient family who had to listen to my wails about being stuck for ideas repeatedly. Thanks to my #1 support and encouragement, Emiri-chan, for the fireside confrontation idea. I hope you like it. Kudos to Firefury for the sake ideas. There'll be more. Tried to find the story you recommended, but with no luck. Sorry to all you Kenshin-gumi fans, but this is a story about a master and his rather angry baka deshi taking morons apart. There are a lot of other K-gumi stories out there, and I don't intent to involve them in this particular plot-line. Still, I hope you like it. Thanks also to the movie Crocodile Dundee 2, and all those Tarzan books I read in grade school. ^_^ ;; 


	6. Chapter 6

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Disclaimer: It's not mine. Thank you. *Bows *  
  
Chapter 6  
  
------------------  
  
The next dawn showed a considerably altered campsite. The place resembled a sushi roll, with only a little respectable distance in the middle to give the leaders some breathing room. Every man was practically sitting on the person behind him, trying to get as far away as possible from the bordering forest.  
  
Fingers twitched on weapons and bloodshot eyes darted continuously at any movement. The previous night had held even less sleep than the one before it. Although their superiors may have disputed the appearance of a man little more than a childhood nightmare to the majority of them, it didn't stop ingrained fears from nibbling away at their already tattered courage.  
  
In an occupation where few live to see retirement, superstition tends to abound. Gambling was part of the business. In games you gambled your money. On the street you gambled your life. As a result, many were fervent patrons of the gods of luck, and carried personal sutras to ward off misfortune. Now suddenly near myth was coming to life, and it didn't seem to like them. Muttered mantras and even outright prayers were prolific throughout the ranks.  
  
The three resident foreigners came up. Smith looked in disgust at the lot of them, shaking his head and yelling to get attention. #Okay, you pansies, it's time to get moving! Come on! Go! Go! # He made shooing gestures with his hands, like they were an unruly herd of sheep.  
  
Blank stares met his commands, for he had spoken in English. Angry at being ignored, Smith drew one of his pistols and shot into the air. This confused And alarmed the men, who started milling about, hands on various weapons.  
  
Hiroshi walked up, looking exasperated. He had a splitting headache from last night's argument, and was in a foul temper. Most of his subservience had worn away, along with any respect for these invaders of his peace. He was still wary of their weapons, though, so he wisely chose not to outright rebel. Shooting a glare at the insufferable man, he grudgingly repeated his words in Japanese. Word for word.  
  
There was some dark muttering among the men. Going back into that forest was Not on the top of their list of Good Ideas. Hiroshi had to point out that they wouldn't be able to stay there forever, since they'd run out of food. Just sitting there waiting for trouble to come to them wasn't such a good plan either. He then wound up his speech with the usual threats and promises of retribution from their thrice-cursed superiors.  
  
The men finally went, in small groups, moving as though they were walking on a bed of nails.  
  
One particular group of three opted to retrace their steps along the trail. They agreed that the swordsman was tricky enough to backtrack. The fact that it was also Away from the part of the forest that had been so painful for them the other day was a topic they rather carefully avoided.  
  
The path was small, and the trees pressed in closely, so they had to go single file. Comments were made in whispers. After all, there was no need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves, was there? All reported seeing nothing, and so they hurried along. A ways down the trail the second in line, Daimato, heard a faint rustle behind him. Stiffening, he whispered the name of the man behind him. No voice answered.  
  
Sweating visibly, he dared to peek over his shoulder. Only forest greeted his vision. Swinging back around, he saw that his first companion had gained some distance on him. He scrambled to catch up.  
  
The first was focusing on the trail at his feet, and so was unprepared when Daimato nearly ran him over. The panicked second man almost got a sword through the guts for his trouble.  
  
"Curse your clumsiness, Daimato. Do you want to die by my blade before the mountain spirit gets to you?" he demanded, badly shaken up.  
  
The second shook his head, frantically waving behind them. "But Ichiro, Saigo is gone!"  
  
Ichiro paused, peering around for a while. "Saigo. Where are you, you lazy dog?" he whispered harshly, unwilling to raise his voice any further. When only silence greeted them he shrugged. "Oh, well. No loss. Let's move." The other quickly agreed with him. Better to save their own skins. Saigo was on his own. Whether here or in the underworld, they didn't care. They continued on, Daimato practically stepping on the other's heels.  
  
Ichiro suddenly tripped, and came up cursing the other. Turning, he was all set to ream him out and give him a good whack with the hilt of his sword for good measure when the words caught in his throat. Where Daimato had been bumping into him but a moment ago, was now only bushes and trees. He called out, but heard only the wind reply.  
  
His nerve abruptly cracked, and he turned and dashed down the trail. *To the underworld with this job and the consequences of desertion. I quit! NO amount of pay is worth this. * he thought.  
  
Behind him the forest was quiet. A pair of eyes watched his progress from a large tree, one hand firmly clamped over the mouth of Daimato. The other held the blade of his katana to the petrified man's throat. Listening, there came the cry of surprise he was expecting in the distance. Teeth flashing briefly in the spotted sunlight, he smoothly brought the hilt down on the back of his captive's skull.  
  
Letting the now unconscious form drop into the undergrowth beneath him, he started off toward the noise. The third one was in a similar state a ways up the trail.  
  
He would not make the same mistake twice. No one was permitted to leave until he allowed it. There would be no more annoying reinforcements.  
  
The noise level of the man he'd trapped increased. His humorless smile was briefly in evidence once again.  
  
"Now, now. Be patient. I'm coming." He murmured, amusement flashing for a brief instant in golden eyes.  
  
***  
  
The man dangled helplessly, his foot caught in a snare. His ankle felt as though it was about to tear apart as it bore the weight of his entire body. Struggling only made it worse. No one had come yet in answer to his cries. He was not agile enough to reach up and try to untie the rope, so he had no choice but to hang there, slowly rotating with the momentum of his own thrashings.  
  
On one such revolution, he caught sight of a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Twisting his head, he tried to see it more clearly. Had he been found? He spun slowly until he was facing a lower branch of the tree that held him captive. Still he found no one. He looked off to his left, then returned his gaze to the tree.  
  
There was someone now sitting on the branch. A dark blue gi and hakama blended with the shadowed nooks of the tree, making it hard to make out his outline. He would have been impossible to spot, even right in front of him, if it weren't for the pale skin of the man's face.  
  
And the flaming red hair held pulled back high on his head.  
  
Now the scout was upside down, all the blood rushing to his head and fleeing his throbbing ankle, so it took him a bit longer than normal to put together certain details.  
  
Then the flame-haired shadow smiled. It was not a nice smile. He tilted his head to the side, casually inspecting the trapped man like you would a cow you were considering buying in the market. The movement brought his left cheek plainly in view in the light of the sunrise.  
  
If it were possible for a man to pale when his head was where his feet should be, this guy did. Or at least, gave it a good shot. Memories of lurid tales the old has-been had told, and he'd pretended to ignore, along with half-forgotten childhood nightmares suddenly loomed up with crystal, bloody clarity. The yakuza did not pause to wonder how on earth the hitokiri of legend could have ended up on this particular mountain in Japan. He didn't even take the time to notice the other's slim, almost fragile looking build.  
  
Such things are most often overlooked when you're about to pass out from fright. All he could see was that red-red hair and that crossed scar.  
  
Then the figure was less than a foot away from him, and all his attention was caught and held by a pair of flat purple eyes, the flashes of amber in them mesmerizing the captive. He couldn't even blink.  
  
The Battousai smiled again, this one even more chilling than the last. He leaned forward, shaking the spell slightly. The scout managed to close his eyes, trying to brace for his inevitable death. He bit back a shriek as he felt the movement of air caused by the assassin's close proximity. The noise might encourage the killer to prolong his torture. He felt hot breath near his ear.  
  
"Leave this mountain." A low voice growled, sending shivers up (or rather down) the man's spine. "This is your last warning. Leave now or you may never leave at all." It continued, it's tones as threatening as the stillness before an avalanche.  
  
The scout felt the other moving again beside him. He was expecting a sword through the guts, or even a swing at his neck. What he wasn't ready for was the sudden slackening of the loop holding him above the ground. He had only time for a short, bitten off shriek as he plunged toward the forest floor.  
  
When he came to some time later to one of his campmates shaking him awake, the others gathered around him, he was a bit disoriented. Then events caught up to his bruised brain, and he began to scream.  
  
It took several more minutes and some stinging slaps before he managed to babble out what happened. The story spread like wildfire throughout the camp.  
  
**  
  
In the secret storage chamber in a small hut, the smell of old sake jugs and the settling dust was the only occupants.  
  
--------------------  
  
Had a bit of fun with names there. You'll see if you look them up. Ok. This one's still a bit rough, but I'll put it out anyway. Sorry I lied. NEXT chapter will have more Hiten Mitsurugi. Gomen. It just wrote itself that way. Sorry if B seems OOC. My own rather twisted sense of humor seems to be leaking into my writing. Oh, and I've changed my mind. Compliments are nice, but threats seem to motivate me too. So feel free.^_^ 


	7. Chapter 7

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
See previous Disclaimers. Please.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
-----------------------  
  
The three hunters returned to camp that day to find a solid line of opposition arrayed against them. Hostile looks were thrown their way and they instinctively reached for weapons. Smith took it all in and stepped forward angrily.  
  
#What's the problem with you lot Now?! # He demanded, glaring around. #Hey, Heeroshi! Where are you, you lazy idiot?! #  
  
Said spokesman stepped reluctantly forward, bristling at the insult but still wary. Glancing uneasily between the two groups, he cleared his throat. #The men . . . we have decided to 'call it quits' Smithsu-san. # he stated, any diplomacy he had mean to use gone with the man's rudeness.  
  
# They can't quit. # Smith said, scowling around him and fingering one on the six shooters on his hip. Hiroshi hesitated, but dutifully translated to his men. They'd understood his attitude and gesture well enough, and were already muttering amongst themselves. Fear of these foreigners could only hold for so long against the more mysterious and powerful kamis of the forest. Finding out that the legendary assassin was real and after them was the absolute last straw.  
  
Schuster and Spencer backed Smith in a rare show of solidarity. Schuster hefted one of his bombs while Spencer had his dart gun in hand and ready to use at a moment's notice. This caused the men to back up a bit, but their expressions remained set.  
  
Schuster surveyed what would soon become an ugly mob. They were beginning to be more trouble than they were worth. But like it or not, they needed these hireswords for the necessary grunt work. Not to mention as shields and distractions for whatever it was out there gunning for them. He suggested offering them more money. However, before a red-faced Smith could shout him down Hiroshi shook his head.  
  
# No amount of money would be enough. # he said reluctantly, concious of all the attention on him. #One of the men saw the hitokiri himself. #  
  
The foreigners were puzzled. #Hee-to-keere? What's that?! # Smith demanded, not recognizing the word. Hiroshi frowned in thought, then brightened. #In your language, it is word assassin. Very powerful one. # he explained. #This one legendary to our country. Unstoppable. Many believe he is a demon. We cannot face such a one and live. #  
  
The three exchanged skeptical glances. # You're saying that a fairytale is scaring you yellow-bellies?! # Smith asked incredulously.  
  
Hiroshi shook his head. #He was very real. Disappeared, but now he is back. We leave now. # he stated firmly, and the crowd behind him murmered an affirmative.  
  
#The hell you are! # Smith shouted, and the argument erupted further, Smith hurling threats and accusations, Hiroshi standing firm by his declaration. Finally Spencer cut in, his cool voice slicing through the noise.  
  
#I wonder what your employers will do when you tell them that they will not get paid the rest of their money. # he said, his gaze sweeping over the entire group. Hiroshi seemed to slump at that, and translated. An uneasy mutter ran through the ranks of the locals, and there were a few isolated arguments among them. Hiroshi eventually stepped forward again, visibly reluctant. # We have decided to stay for the rest of the day. Then, we are gone. We will spread out, all of us, to cover all ground quickly. # he insisted, peering anxiously at the angle of sunlight.  
  
Spencer nodded, cutting off Smith's protest. # Then we have a bargain. # he said. Schuster only looked on indifferently. As long as he finally got the opportunity to use his bombs, he didn't care about the strategy.  
  
*  
  
The men spread out, each keeping within sight of their fellows, beating the bushes and even going as far as throwing a rock into the occasional tree. The sound of their passage filled the silence of the forest, creating the effect of a marching army.  
  
A few of the more trained ones had the definite feeling that their progress was being watched. Skin prickling, they kept their weapons close.  
  
**  
  
The warrior watched from a large tree, his body angled so that in spite of his coloring it would be very hard to distinguish him from the surrounding bark. It was time to make the final assault. A much more direct one, this time. Soon this would all be ended. Ignoring a stone flung dangerously near his perch, he melted back around the trunk, sliding down until his sandaled feet touched the loamy forest floor, making not even a whisper of sound. Cocking his head to the side, he listened carefully. There, off to the right. There seemed to be a larger concentration of voices. He moved quickly forward, his passage unmarked by so much as the rustle of a leaf.  
  
Himura moved purposely toward the large crowd of men milling about in a small clearing. One eyebrow rose. Surely, they couldn't be so stupid as to stand out in the open in a group, could they? Shaking his head, senses still alert, he moved slowly forward. Sensing no ambush, he couldn't help but smile slightly. This was a rare opportunity, indeed. These men needed a few lessons in tactics. Murmuring to himself, he readied his sword in its sheath.  
  
"Good morning, students, and welcome to the Basics of Hiten Mitsurugi. I'm your teacher, Himura Kenshin." He moved forward, stepping out of the treeline and into the clearing. One man spotted him and a shout went up. Himura had already taken the measure of each man, and made no move as the first charged him desperately. As the man reached him, he vanished, appearing briefly to the side of his opponent, twisting and slicing at the back of his neck. The man went down in a heap.  
  
"Ryu Kan Sen." Himura said softly, stepping into a ready stance. "Be grateful that I'm using a sakabatou." He told the unconscious heap behind him. The pile didn't answer. He shrugged. "Next." He said, sheathing his sword and going into battoujutsu stance.  
  
***  
  
Others were attracted by the shouting, and quickly started to converge on the area. Two completely different shadows heard, and moved forward.  
  
***  
  
Himura leapt over the swings of one mass of men, landing in the midst of a cluster of bamboo near a single fighter. The man swung wildly, Himura easily dodging the blow. The bamboo was not so lucky, several stalks shearing off near their base. Another group began to converge on his new location. The spry redhead dove, rolling forward. As he jumped upright, one hand found a long bamboo stalk. Casually ducking a swing to his head, he spun in his crouch, using the bamboo like a whip, hitting the men surrounding him near knee level at high-speed. The circle collapsed like dominoes, curses and screams of pain following.  
  
  
  
One of the fallen men reached out, desperately grabbing him about the ankle in a death grip. Himura swung his saya down, hitting the base of the wrist and numbing the hand. He felt the focus of someone on him and whirled, the hand impeding his movements only slightly.  
  
It was enough. The dart hit his left arm, sending a wave of numbness coursing up the limb. Pulling it out and peering at it curiously he wavered, momentarily off-balance by the sudden sensation as something intangible seemed to drain away at his strength. Blinking to clear his suddenly blurred vision, he saw another group of men closing in, grins of triumph on their faces as they took in his obvious disorientation. On guard, he looked around to see one of the foreigners smiling cooly at him, gun raised for another shot. Kenshin needed a few moments to compose himself. Time the other wasn't going to give him.  
  
Then without warning there came the whistling of air as something impacted along the ground. The surprised foreigner went flying as the ground erupted in a path straight toward him. He landed quite a distance away in the trees. Looking around, Kenshin spotted a familiar figure. He was minus his mantle still, but had on a fresh blue gi. His sword was held ready in his hand, and it was obvious by the look on his face that he had come prepared to create some serious mayhem. Kenshin found himself breathing out a sigh of relief as tension he had not known existed eased. Dark eyes met his own, and his master nodded in acknowledgement before striding forward in pursuit of his departed opponent, casually taking out any who were foolish enough to be in his path. His teeth bared in a vicious smile, Kenshin swung around to face his next targets, who had halted their advance at the appearance of Hiko and were still gaping.  
  
"Now, where were we?" He asked, charging forward before they could answer or renew their attack.  
  
***  
  
Spencer backed to the edge of the cliff, his heel scraping a few rocks off the edge to fall into the chasm below. He had gotten up from his fall quickly, being fortunate enough to land in some relatively cushioning bushes. He'd even retained his weapon. Sensing pursuit, he had chosen a tactical retreat. Running through the forest, he'd pushed through the growth only to find himself on a bare, rocky outcrop overhanging an impressive drop. Swinging around to retrace his steps, he found his escape cut off. Somehow, he wasn't as surprised as he thought he should be by who it was.  
  
Hiko advanced, not even pausing as he batted away the darts with the flat of his sword before they could come near him. When he was close enough, he sliced off half of the gun barrel with one swing of his sword.  
  
Spencer kept the remains of the weapon as a shield, though he knew it would do him little good. Still, his bland expression didn't waver. He had a revolver tucked away that he hadn't used yet. There was no way he could miss at this range.  
  
"Well, my good man. It seems I'm at a bit of a disadvantage at the moment." He said calmly, knowing the tone of his voice cast the illusion that he was unfazed by this turn of events. Hiko only looked at him, his own face revealing nothing. Looking into those dark eyes, Spencer saw that the other was profoundly unimpressed. In fact, he appeared completely uninterested; as if Spencer was wasting his time. This served to internally rattle the Englishman more than any threats ever had. They had been hunting this man for days. How could he take it like someone had interrupted him at tea?  
  
"You may have beaten us for now, but I do hope you realize that we shall return. I am not used to being thwarted in my desires, and I detest this humiliation." Spencer said loftily, one hand slowly reaching for the gun concealed in his sleeve. "You will never be rid of me. No prison can hold me for long. If I am deported, I can easily come back. I am a very rich man, you know, and with money you can buy Anything." Spencer smiled, his eyes veiled as his hands closed on the handle.  
  
Throughout his speech, Hiko only watched him, giving no indication whether or not he understood a word he was saying. Spencer didn't care. Let him die in ignorance.  
  
"You cannot stop us." Spencer said, pulling out the gun and swinging it forward.  
  
Then Hiko was no longer there, and before the smirking Englishman could register that his unsuspecting target was no longer in front of him, there was the crack of a gun going off. Pain exploded in Spencer's chest, and he looked down in open astonishment to see a red spot quickly spreading on his shirt. His useless dart gun dropped from weakening fingers, and his hand went up in a useless effort to dam the flow of blood.  
  
Eyes wide in disbelief, mouth working, he looked up from the horrible vision of his life flowing between his fingers to gaze into the trees. "Schmidt." he managed to croak, before slowly toppling over backwards off the cliff with no further sound.  
  
Hiko had ducked and rolled, putting a thick tree between him and the direction that the malevolent emotions he had felt earlier seemed to originate from. He could feel the other's annoyance as he tried to locate him, and held still, blending into the trees.  
  
He had felt the flicker of triumph in the cool sniper's emotions a split second before he fired. That warning had been all the time he needed to dodge. The same could not be said of the other man. He had taken the bullet meant for Hiko's back. Glancing the way of his departed antagonist, he murmured some parting words, in perfect English.  
  
#I didn't need to stop you. In my experience, men such as you tend to take each other out more often than not. Only a few remain to be taken care of. # he gripped his sword, feeling the presence of the other on the move. Stretching out his senses even more, he sensed it heading in the direction of his former student.  
  
*Time to finish this pathetic game. * He thought grimly.  
  
***  
  
Himura moved among them like a dancing shadow. A painful one at that. The effects of the drug had been lost to the surge of adrenalin and the confidence boost at the appearance of his master. He charged in, hitting an opponent at high speed, then was several yards away, meeting the lunge of a larger fighter and countering with a thrust to his neck. All the time he muttered under his breath. "Ryu Sou Sen, Ryu Shou Sen." Leap forward, dodge, neck strike "Ryu Kan Sen-Tsumuji."  
  
By this time, the remaining men were either running around in a panic looking for a way out or accidentally fighting each other. They managed to get some sense of order, and charge him all at once. Himura raised his sword, swinging it down with incredible force toward the charging line. Men and earth were sent in all directions.  
  
"Dou Ryu Sen." He finished calmly. He looked around at the groaning bodies that littered the trampled clearing. They were all in major pain and wouldn't recover for some time, but were all breathing. Sheathing his sword, he tucked his hands in his sleeves.  
  
"Any questions?" he asked politely.  
  
None were able to comment, and he shrugged, smiling. Suddenly his head whipped up and he jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a fizzling stick of dynamite that landed where he had just been moments earlier, exploding and scattering the fallen men.  
  
Himura landed several yards away, looked around and scowled. #Don't you even care about your own men?# He shouted angrily in English to the surrounding forest.  
  
A voice answered from the trees. #Vhy should ve? They ver shust hired hands anyvay. Besides, they should be honored to be a distraction for me. Vhat else are they goot for?#  
  
Kenshin eyes narrowed in rage, his form wavering and disappearing completely as another bomb was thrown his way. He moved swiftly, headed in the direction of the voice and the mass of arrogant emotions located there.  
  
He was on Schuster before the man was aware he'd left the clearing. The German only had time for one look of surprise as a figure leapt from the brush in front of him, jumping high into the air, before bringing his sword crashing down on his shoulder. Schuster fell with a gurgle, passing out from the pain. "Ryu Tsui Sen." Kenshin whispered softly, standing over the fallen man, his eyes narrowed and sword leveled at the prone man's throat. His hand trembled slightly, and his face showed an internal struggle.  
  
He was mercifully snapped out of his brief inner conflict by the noise of someone crashing through the trees some distance away, followed by loud cursing. Without a glance at his latest opponent, he took off through the brush. It sounded like the American. He obviously didn't know much about stealth. Kenshin was going to give him a firsthand lesson.  
  
**  
  
Smith was no woodsman. Despite the image of 'rough and ready' he tried to portray, he was very much a city boy. So it happened that when everyone rushed away he had tried to follow. And got lost.  
  
Cursing the bushes that kept him from moving in the straight line he wanted, and nature in general, his hands were full of branches and his attention was on his feet. So when he looked up he nearly jumped out of his skin at the appearance at his side of a redheaded local he'd never seen before. Opening his mouth to angrily cuss the other out for startling him, he looked into the man's eyes. All other impressions faded. Smith didn't realize he was shivering. He felt as though he had plunged in the ocean in midwinter. He managed to open his mouth, but all he could do was gurgle. Those terrible eyes promised just one thing, and with a certainty that nearly turned his bones to jelly. Forgetting bravado and even the weapons by his side, he spun away wildly in an attempt to run. A hard metal object impacting with his temple was the last thing he felt before darkness rose to swallow him as the ground rushed toward him.  
  
***  
  
The men were now in full retreat, the screams of their less fortunate comrades urging them on even faster. Several of them had run into each other, and instinctively clustered together in an effort for maximum defense. Eyes rolled at the slightest sound and knuckles were white as they gripped any weapon that came to hand. Reaching an incline, they gratefully took to it. Down meant off the mountain; away from this place of death and ill omen. The incline turned into an old streambed, and the group moved cautiously down its rocky bottom.  
  
Their attention was behind them, ears straining to pick up any sound. Therefore, the first man didn't notice the trip-wire until he fell over it, cursing. Everyone spun around, gripping their weapons. A soft whoosh came from the trees as a bent pole was released from restraint, and suddenly it was raining sake jugs.  
  
The men shouted, scrambling to get out of the trench as a hail of pottery fell. Some didn't make it to the sides, felled by the heavy containers as they impacted and shattered on their heads. However, most made it to the sides, grasping the nearest branches that hung down in an effort to pull themselves out. One tug showed one man his mistake as a string attached to one branch was shaken loose, slithering up the tree like a thin snake. They looked up in time to see two poles swing down from both sides of the trail, several sake jugs tied to it like party streamers. The two traps met, breaking men and pottery.  
  
Amidst the strong smell of sake, those still conscious scrambled down the embankment, shouting in panic.  
  
***  
  
Himura looked around. The locals had finally decided to take his warning seriously, and were making swift tracks away. Stepping away from the unconcious body of his most recent opponent, he scanned the area carefully.  
  
There. Not that far away to his left fled the man that was the yakuza who had been collaborating the most with the hunters. He had played an important role in starting this whole mess, and held a great deal of the responsibility for this attack. It was he who must have led them here, to this forest. It was he who had helped them hurt one of the few people that he could consider family.  
  
Eyes narrowing and changing color, he moved forward to intercept him.  
  
**  
  
Hiroshi paused, leaning against a tree for a moment to catch his breath. In all the confusion, he had a good chance of getting away. The bosses could stuff this job. Nothing was worth this. Straightening, he managed to take one step forward before a well-placed foot impacted with his side, and he found himself pinned to the tree, something undeniably sharp pricking at the soft skin of his throat. Looking up the length of the blade, his eyes widened and his heart froze.  
  
***  
  
The target had to be close by. All the noise seemed to originate from this area. Carefully scanning about, Schmidt kept his rifle up and ready.  
  
***  
  
"Please! I was only doing what I was paid to do! It's my boss's fault! He took the foreign dogs' money! It's death or worse to disobey a yakuza boss!" Hiroshi babbled, swallowing involuntarily against the sword at his throat, feeling the razor-sharp edge lightly nick the flesh there. A corner of his mind noted crazily that the edge seemed to be on the wrong side of the weapon. The greater, more survival inclined part of his brain kept its' opinions to itself and didn't blurt it out loud.  
  
The amber eyes less than an inch from his seemed to smolder with an inner fire of their own in the half-light of dusk, narrowing even further as the face moved even closer, and a voice hissed. "You think that excuses you from your part in this? I'm tired of stupid justifications! You led them here. You Helped them hurt him!"  
  
Hiroshi's eyes widened. "So this IS about that psycho potter?!" He blurted, then immediately wished he had kept quiet. The eyes before him were now burning with rage, making them appear to be two glowing slits of gold. Hiroshi was aware of the sword pressing forward even more insistently, and felt the warm trickle of escaped fluid drip down his neck.  
  
"NEVER." The Battousai said, emphasizing each word "SPEAK.SO.ABOUT.MY.SHISHOU.AGAIN."  
  
Hiroshi's face now resembled old tofu. His mind gibbered in complete panic. The guy was the Battousai's Master?! What had he gotten himself into? He should have listened to his mother and become a cloth merchant.  
  
He was dead. "Onegai, Battousai-sama. Make it quick." He said, closing his eyes to block out the sight. He doubted that the enraged assassin would grant him even that. He had never been this scared in his life. Not when he'd fought his way up the yakuza ranking; not even when he'd faced a boss after a failure. Here was certain, painful death literally staring him in the face.  
  
There was silence for so long that Hiroshi risked cracking an eye open. The amber had momentarily retreated from his captor's eyes, replaced by a flat purple that was no more reassuring, but appeared more thoughtful.  
  
"I will give you the same choice as the others." The man before him said softly, his voice slightly higher than before. "You can stay here with your foreign employers and share their fate, or you can leave, and never come near here again. You should also find a new line of work." He added.  
  
Hiroshi blinked. What? He was being given a chance out of this? What was the man playing at? NO one just let someone go, not after what he'd done to him. His eyes widened. Was the manslayer letting him go now, in order to slowly hunt him like they had been doing to his master? It would be quite the irony. Cautiously, he decided to test this unfamiliar ground.  
  
"What if I stay?"  
  
The warrior looked at him coldly, his eyes flashing between those mad colors again. "Then I will break every bone in your body and leave you to the forest." He stated, as if declaring that he'd try a new recipe for dinner that day. Hiroshi swallowed again. "I think I'll leave." He squeaked. He'd try to get a head start.  
  
He felt the strange katana ease from his neck. Afraid to move for a second, he cautiously straightened. Not taking his eyes off the being before him, he took a few tentative steps. When the other didn't casually gut him, he felt a slight flicker of hope that hew would actually live through this and started walking away, keeping his movements slow and his hands in plain sight. He looked away from his former captor for a moment to take his bearings, then turned back, only to find himself alone.  
  
Unable to take the tension any longer, knowing that those eyes were still watching him, he broke into a run away from that nightmare place.  
  
For now, Hiroshi just concentrated on Away. Later he'd decided to veer around Kyoto and head for Aizu. With luck, his employer would think he was gone with the rest of them.  
  
----------------------  
  
Credit goes to Jason M. Lee for the bamboo idea. Sorry I couldn't expand on it more. Sake torture is still owed to Firefury. Thanks for all your patience. I hope you get what you hoped for.  
  
There's more, there's more! Read on! 


	8. Chapter 8

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Previous, previous-not mine-see previous  
  
Chapter 8  
  
-------------------  
  
Himura watched the former head man's retreat. Aside from the occasional sporadic cries from those unfortunate to come upon the last of his traps, the sounds of the forest were gradually giving way to a more natural chorus. The adrenalin rush was fading, taking with it the strength in his joints and muscles. His shoulders sagged, and his head felt full of cotton. He resisted the urge to find a hollow nearby to curl up in and sleep.  
  
The majority of the enemy was thoroughly routed, but a few details needed to be seen to before he could allow himself any rest. Sheathing his sword, he turned, his hair flashing in the sunlight filtering through the canopy.  
  
***  
  
There! The sudden glint of color was all he needed.  
  
***  
  
Kenshin didn't consciously register the sound of the gunshot. One moment he was moving forward, and the next he was spun backwards in a vicious spiral as an invisible hand slammed into his shoulder with the force of a cavalry charge. He came to moments later, his vision full of spinning sky and trees, laying in an uncomfortable sprawl on the forest floor. He blinked, not having a clue what just happened - until he shifted his left shoulder.  
  
A lance of sheer agony raced down his arm and back up to his head, causing him to stifle a startled whimper. Shifting his head around to try and look, his right hand found the answer to his current troubles. A clumsy probe of his fingers revealed a laceration at least an inch deep into the muscle of his shoulder. It also brought an increased bout of pain that surged up as the wound took its vengeance for being treated so by threatening to blacken his vision.  
  
He breathed slowly for a moment, gathering the remains of his reserves and using his training to block out the worst of it. Gingerly, he managed to sit up, pausing briefly for his equilibrium to catch up. Looking around, he realized that he was on the opposite side of the tree where he had confronted the collaborator. Somehow his body had responded where his brain could not, instinctively putting something solid between itself and the direction of where the shot originated. *The shot. * Comprehension dawned as he thought of the wound, and he sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. Yes, there was a definite carbide tang to it, along with the even more unpleasant smell of slightly burned flesh, no doubt originating from his shoulder. He had been injured many times, but this was his first gunshot wound. He didn't much like the experience.  
  
The sniper was still out there, more dangerous than he had first estimated, if he could be far enough away not to even register on his ki awareness and still managed to hit him. He had shelter for the time being, but doubtless the man was moving to a different position even as he sat there in order to ascertain if he was truly finished or to get another shot off.  
  
Kenshin tucked his left arm against his body in an effort to minimize any movement of his shoulder. The pain was now bearable, the drug from the earlier dart ironically helping to stave it off, for now.  
  
Mentally pushing back both pain and lingering drowsiness, he tried to search the immediate area with his senses for the threat. He silently cursed himself for a careless fool. He had taken out two of the foreigners, and had little doubt that his master had seen to the third. However, in all the confusion and battle heat and drugging, he had failed to take into account that there was still a fourth out there. The man's long absence had pushed his importance further back on the list of priorities, a mistake that he was now regretting rather painfully at the moment. He shook his head slightly, which didn't improve the pain level. Shishou would never let him hear the end of this.  
  
A thought flitted through his mind that this must be much like what his master had gone through for days. The idea proved to be beneficial as the comparison brought with it a surge of anger that did much to dispel the greater part of his disorientation. He couldn't give up now; he was still needed.  
  
***  
  
Schmidt crept through the forest, circling the area of his last shot. Stopping occasionally, he would peer through his rifle's sites, but could not relocate his target.  
  
He supposed that the others had been disposed of in some way. He had not heard them blundering about for some time now. He felt no remorse over their supposed demise. To him, they had only been in the way.  
  
He enjoyed the moment of the kill; it being the single moment he allowed strong emotions free play. He had been trained initially for special assignments requiring discretion and the effective removal of people his superiors had deemed inconvenient. His last official mission had involved more fighting than anticipated, ending up with him on the 'presumed dead' list of all those who'd had any sort of hold on him. This was fortuitous for his long-term plans, for he had grown tired of the endless dithering and decided to strike out on his own. The need to seek out worthy targets was still there, having been ingrained into him over the years, but now it was he who chose whom he killed.  
  
He sought out challenges to his skill, in the process meeting and forming a tenuous alliance with the other three men. Together, they had formed a disparate group out seeking their own pleasures. One of them had always handled the details of where and whom.  
  
He had yet to object to their selections. He could leave whenever he chose, and none dared to interfere with his movements.  
  
They had gone to many exotic locations, including Africa and Asia. It had been stimulating, but ultimately disappointing. The game was over all too soon and far too easy.  
  
But in this strange land, they had been setback for days. One man had been their target. It seemed another simple exercise. However, the so-called 'easy kill' had disappeared like smoke, being replaced out of the blue by another. Schmidt had known long before the others that they were no longer tracking the same man. There had been a difference in style, in strategy from the first that was too subtle for his less experienced comrades to grasp. True, there was a slight similarity between this new man's methods to that of the first, but there was also a vast difference.  
  
Where the first had chosen a gradual approach, seemingly content to lead them around in circles, the other had tried to warn them off, quite a few times in fact. However, when that avenue was seemingly exhausted, he had wasted no time in implementing a plan that quickly wore away at their numbers and morale. The end result had been the now complete dispersal of the entire group. Doubtless, the survivors would quickly spread the word, significantly diminishing the possibility of any coming close enough to be of assistance.  
  
Schmidt allowed himself a frown of annoyance. They had left the place in a shambles with their leave-taking. There were tracks everywhere, making it impossible to distinguish ally from objective. His mood didn't improve as he thought of the scene by the cliff.  
  
He felt no guilt over Spencer's demise. The Englishman had actually been slightly less of a bother than the others, but it was his own fault for getting in the way. No, what irked him now was the fact that he wasn't quite sure that he had gotten their initial target either. He had been pleased when he'd caught sight of him after days without so much as a clue to where he had gone, and had taken full advantage of the distraction his erstwhile comrade was providing.  
  
Sadly, now he couldn't make up his mind whether or not he had been successful. His record thus far had been perfect, and the possibility that he had not completed his goal nagged at him.  
  
The large man's drop had been too fast to be normal, he convinced himself. He had to have been killed, the bullet passing through him to take out Spencer as well. He firmly shook his head, pushing aside doubts. He was dead. NO ONE was that quick.  
  
Now he searched for the other. The one who had been a constant thorn in their sides; the source of much irritation and setbacks. He dared to interfere in the hunt. HIS hunt. Fingers tightened on the trigger of his rifle as he allowed his temper fractionally off its normally tight leash.  
  
***  
  
Two heads snapped around, each toward the direction of the other. They were separated by distance and acres of forest, but their eyes narrowed in unison as their stances shifted.  
  
Both sped forward, heading toward a mid-point meeting, and the dark flash of ki in the middle. Their forms blurred.  
  
***  
  
Schmidt's only warning was a flicker of movement from above. Looking quickly upward, he wasn't able to move his gun up into position in time as Kenshin's Ryu Tsui Sen impacted with the weapon, splitting it cleanly in two as he smoothly flipped the blade to its edged side at the last second.  
  
Off balance, Schmidt tumbled from his perch on a stout tree branch, twisting and alighting more or less unscathed on his hands and knees. Kenshin followed not far behind, touching down softly on his feet. The dramatic effect of his smooth landing was then ruined slightly as his current physical state caught up to his balance. Feeling lightheaded, he stumbled slightly, swaying and panting as he clutched his shoulder. Sweat dripped off his bangs as his head bobbed slightly with his heavy breathing, but his darkened eyes never wavered from the form of the sniper.  
  
*  
  
Schmidt was on his feet quickly. His primary weapon was a lost cause, but had a large hunting knife in his sleeve for emergencies and he unhesitantly drew it from its concealment. He disliked close quarters, preferring the detachment of shooting from a distance. However, if pressed he was willing to use such crude forms of combat.  
  
He'd caught sight of his opponent almost immediately after landing. Now, he eyed the frail-looking, flame-haired boy before him. He noted the tiredness that the other could not quite conceal, and especially the wound he was sure he himself had inflicted. Silently, he berated himself for the poor shot. He must be getting sloppy, an intolerable weakness. Finally, when the small man made no move, his eyes traveled up to meet the other's gaze.  
  
Schmidt was a cold man, with all the mercy and personality of a town gibbet. His was the type that would take out his own mother if the price was right. Neither pleas nor threats had ever moved him.  
  
But now, looking into the eyes that met his behind the fringe of fiery bangs, he found himself pausing for some reason. Puzzled by his hesitation to finish it, he tried to sort out what seemed wrong with the situation.  
  
The problem seemed to be that he was getting two conflicting messages from the injured boy before him. His body told that he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion and his injury. He was easy prey. But the cold, gold-laced purple eyes that met his own were stating quite clearly that HE wasn't the prey here.  
  
All of the German's training and experience told him to react a different way to each state. It was confusing, and he was momentarily unable to deal with it.  
  
Schmidt paused, at an impasse for a few precious seconds. Then the strange eyes flickered, breaking the spell of silence. Mouth opening, he spoke in slow, careful English.  
  
  
  
#Your punishment is not mine to provide. Another has that right before me. # the redhead said, those unsettling eyes glancing behind him.  
  
Schmidt knew it would be foolish to fall for that trick, but something told him that this one was not in the habit to bluff. Glancing back, what he saw sent him spinning around, his knife raised defensively.  
  
A few yards away stood the original prey. The one he had been so sure was taken care of. Yet there he was, standing just within a cluster of trees.  
  
**  
  
Hiko's mantle flowed about him, stirred in a slight breeze. If he felt any fatigue or pain, he showed no signs of it. His blue gi was dusted with the dirt from his roll, but that did nothing to detract from the striking aura of power he had allowed loose after decades of careful concealment and control. His sword was unsheathed, held seemingly casually by his side. It was tilted slightly forward so that its tip angled in from of his right leg, creating a rather dramatic effect as the sun flashed off the flat of the blade.  
  
The older Hiten Mitsurugi master's face showed no particular expression, devoid of his usual confident smirk. His good humor had long gone the way of his patience. The illusion of the self-absorbed, laid back drunkard he usually presented to the world had been stripped away. His eyes now showed his true spirit, their dark depths glimmering with the power of banked inner fires.  
  
*  
  
A part of Schmidt in that frozen second noted with detached interest that it was disturbingly similar to the look in the redhead's eyes.  
  
And, as impossible as it seemed, infinitely more deadly.  
  
*  
  
Hiko stepped forward, every move controlled and with the absolute minimum of effort. His smooth grace reminded the frozen Schmidt of a panther he had once seen gliding through its jungle home. As the traitorous hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew at a primal level that what he now faced was much more dangerous than any wild animal. His death was written clearly in those ebony eyes, and the certain promise of it shook him to the core. For the first time in his life, he felt the prickling of true fear in his guts.  
  
*  
  
Hiko said nothing. There was really nothing to say to the creature that had proved himself so without honor that he struck others down from a distance. He felt none of the respect he would have shown a fellow warrior. All he felt at that moment was irritation at this whole fiasco caused by a few pitiful little men. They just weren't worth getting upset about, injuries and blows to his dignity notwithstanding. Their actions had canceled any chance of mercy or respect normally shown toward worthy opponents. Gazing at the last of them, all Hiko felt was a weary disgust.  
  
Then his gaze slid past the blot on his peace to the visibly battered form of his student. He did not miss the abnormal sway to his usually firm stance. Most especially he noted the large red stain that darkened one shoulder of his gi. Eyes narrowing, Hiko's lips pressed together briefly, the only sign of his fury, before he took a calming breath that briefly dispelled any personal feelings for later consideration. Turning his attention back to his opponent, he silently came to a decision. He would not even acknowledge this waste of humanity by speech.  
  
No, he would waste no words on this one. He frankly did not care about what he might have to say. There was truly only one language that he would understand.  
  
Hiko brought his sword in front of him, grasping it in a two-handed hold. Kenshin saw this and hurriedly stepped more to the side, until his back met with the trunk of a large tree.  
  
Schmidt tensed.  
  
Hiko shot forward, his head low, his mantle streaming behind him like great wings.  
  
Then he was past, his head still down and mantle catching up and falling sedately into place.  
  
The last of the hunters fell without a sound, the nine wounds caused by Hiko's Kuzu Ryu Sen taking effect all at once. He was dead before he hit the ground.  
  
*  
  
Kenshin watched his master straighten and turn, his dark eyes surveying all around him. The forest was silent; the feeling of other men finally faded to little more than a lingering memory.  
  
At last, Hiko relaxed, his broad shoulders loosening, long held tension easing away as he turned toward his former ward.  
  
"It's over?" Kenshin found himself asking in a thin voice, though he already knew the answer. It just seemed to need to be said.  
  
Hiko nodded, his eyes once more hooded, the power within once more firmly in check. The rest of his expression was oddly unreadable as he again surveyed the other's sorry state.  
  
Kenshin smiled, allowing his weary body to slump against the support of a nearby tree. One hand was pressed tightly against the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him, and he was feeling rather lightheaded at the moment. It had been a long week, and the dart's drugged contents were still running through his system. Still smiling, his eyes rolled up as he passed out, sliding down the smooth bark to land in a heap at his master's feet.  
  
Hiko looked down at the unconscious pile that was his former student. Rolling his own eyes for an entirely different reason, he sighed in exasperation. Bending over, being careful of his ribs, he picked the small form up. The care he took in lifting him was a sharp contrast to his annoyed expression.  
  
Turning, he headed for home, his slumbering charge cradled gently in the circle of his arms.  
  
------------------------  
  
okay, that was an odd chapter. But that's ok, there's more ahead! Hope you liked the resolution.^o^ 


	9. Chapter 9

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
As always, Ruruoni Kenshin is not mine. The story idea is but I don't mind sharing. I DO mind being accused of stealing ideas, so forget if any should happen to think that for any reason, then you can just . . . *ahem * you're wrong. Everyone else, please enjoy.^_^;  
  
Chapter 9  
  
----------------------  
  
Kenshin slowly came to the waking world, the ache in his shoulder muffled by the slightly fuzzy feeling he was experiencing. The drug seemed to have mostly worn off, and he found himself gazing at the wooden beams of a vaguely familiar ceiling. He frowned with the effort to recall just how, but was interrupted before he could think long.  
  
"It's about time you came back from you little jaunt to dreamland." A well- known deep voice remarked sarcastically, originating from a few feet away. *That was it. Shishou's place.* Turning his head, Kenshin caught sight of his master sitting opposite him across the fire that crackled in the middle of the hut. Sake cup in one hand, his trademark redlined mantle flowed out from his shoulders to frame his large form before pooling on the floor around him.  
  
Kenshin just gave him a look, to which Hiko responded with his usual torture-the-baka-deshi smirk. Carefully sitting up, Kenshin noted the tight bandage on his shoulder under his gi. Gingerly straightening his clothing with the opposite hand, he took a seat across from his master, the fire flickering between them. He blinked at the flames, shaking his head to clear it. He was still slightly groggy.  
  
They sat in silence for a while. Hiko ladled out some hot soup, which Kenshin gratefully took with a slight bow. When he was almost done with the contents of his bowl, his master spoke up, abrupt as always.  
  
"So are you going to tell me what happened while I was on temporary vacation? I must say that whatever you did caused quite a mess in my forest. I'll be cleaning up for weeks." The older master said gruffly, looking irritated.  
  
Kenshin shifted uncomfortably, squirming slightly. He set his bowl aside, collected his thoughts, and began to speak, recounting the events of the last days, in exact detail. Hiko remained impassive, allowing him to finish without interruption. He took a sip of his sake, which had been hand delivered by a very remorseful Hashimoto-san just a few hours ago. (The man had apologized so much that Hiko wasn't able to get rid of him for a good 40 minutes after that).  
  
*  
  
The recitation wound to a close. Hiko finally looked up, his expression bored. "So, what are you current objectives?" He asked, appearing completely unconcerned about the answer.  
  
Kenshin shifted around some more, folding his hands in his lap. "There are a few things I need to take care of in Kyoto tomorrow. I'll contact the Oniwabanshu to help with the clean up. They'll smooth out the details and put things into their appropriate places."  
  
Himura's hands fiddled nervously in his lap. "After that I'd better head back to Tokyo. I've got a lot of explaining to do." He swallowed, sweating slightly.  
  
Hiko's smirk widened, a hint of white glittering in the firelight. "Afraid of a bokken wielding girl, baka deshi?" He taunted, causing Kenshin to flush and squirm. Kenshin looked up, a slightly rueful amusement in his eyes. "No, of the temper behind the weapon and the strength of the swing, and she's not my only worry." He said, his smile wry as he thought of a row of angry faces.  
  
Hiko raised a sardonic eyebrow, but didn't comment. They sat for a while in a comfortable silence.  
  
Then Hiko chuckled. Kenshin looked up from the flames, his expression inquisitive but wary. What was so funny? Still chuckling, Hiko caught his eye and explained.  
  
"Did you really sneak into their camp like a ninja and scare the spit out of them with that lame 'Leave now, before it's too late' line?"  
  
Kenshin flushed, ducking his head in embarrassment. He sputtered something like it seeming like a good idea at the time.  
  
By now, Hiko's shoulders were quivering. He clutched his sides in a futile effort to keep them from shaking with his laughter. Finally giving it up as a futile effort, he doubled over, laughing helplessly. Collapsing onto his back, his feet narrowly missing the fire, he managed between guffaws to sputter out to his flabbergasted student. "Why didn't you just dress up in a hooded robe, clank around a ringed staff, and say 'I AM TSI TSENG, THE END IS HERE!'?"  
  
Kenshin was bright red, this time in humiliated indignation as he sourly observed his laughing mentor. "I'd like to see You do better in that situation." He muttered sulkily, crossing his arms and pouting.  
  
Hiko laughed like he hadn't in years. The tension of the past week seemed to drain out of him. It was just so typically like his stupid little pupil. Gasping for air, he managed to sit partly up, his smirk having evolved into a full grin.  
  
Hiko went on, barely warmed up. He was engaged in one of his favorite sports. Torture the Deshi. With each volley, Kenshin got redder, and more mortified.  
  
"I'll never let you forget this one. This is even better than the time you . . ."  
  
"Shishou!"  
  
"After all those tricks you played, maybe I should call you 'Tengu deshi'.  
  
"Shishou!!"  
  
"I can just imagine you flitting through the trees like a demented squirrel. You must have thought you were so clever when you. . ."  
  
**  
  
In the surrounding forest, the wildlife was finally beginning to settle down after the strange week full of unsettling sounds and smells.  
  
Those nearest a little hut built in a small clearing looked up, ears perked up in interest at the steadily increasing volume of voices.  
  
One voice was raised in the plaintive tones of someone who had gone through a lifetime of being a target for constant verbal abuse.  
  
The other followed in the mocking tones of the one who had spent that same amount of time deriving amusement from exasperating the other.  
  
"SHISHOU!!!"  
  
"DESHI!!"  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Kenshin stood outside his master's hut, the scene reminding him of a similar farewell just before that memorable fight near Kyoto not that long ago.  
  
Hiko had regained his usual humor, helped along by his bout of laughter the previous night. Both of them stood there silently for a moment.  
  
"Well? Get going." Hiko said gruffly, breaking the silence. Kenshin's amethyst eyes met dark onyx ones, and nodded. Few words were needed. Each more or less understood the other. Kenshin . . . maybe a little more than before. Tearing his eyes away from his master and childhood home, he turned, ready to leave when Hiko's voice stopped him.  
  
"By the way-" the older man said, and as Kenshin looked back curiously, he found that the smirk had been replaced by a disapproving scowl. Kenshin started to sweat.  
  
Hiko regarded him narrowly, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his head tilted to the side as if considering going on. He finally shrugged.  
  
"After your first little disappearing act-" he said, pausing long enough to let Kenshin squirm "-I found myself having some rather strange dreams on occasion; of situations I'd never been in, and of people and battles I'd never seen."  
  
He paused again, then continued, affecting the air of lecturing he often used. "Since the beginnings of Hiten Mitsurugi, there have always been two. The master, and his pupil. The type of one on one our style requires at times develops rather strong spiritual ties between the two." Hiko fixed the confused Kenshin with a glare. "-Which means, that all those bad nights I've had in the past two decades are YOUR fault." He said, snapping the words out.  
  
Kenshin could only stare back, slack-jawed and too preoccupied with the new information to protest his innocence. On the surface, his master's reasoning sounded ludicrous. However, being who he was, he couldn't help but feel guilty at the idea that he'd been causing the other such discomfort without even knowing it. Not to mention the fact that it meant that his master had somehow seen what were probably quite a few of his less prouder moments. He swallowed nervously.  
  
Hiko noted the slightly glazed look on his former pupil's face. Deciding against smacking him back to reality for the moment, he cleared his throat to regain the boy's attention and continued, his eyes thoughtful.  
  
"Added to that, there is the fact that the technique is traditionally supposed to be passed completely at the master's death at the hand's of his pupil." His smile was wry. "The theoretical tie between them should naturally be broken in that supreme act. Never in the history of Hiten Mitsurugi have two masters existed at one time for more than a few seconds." Sharp eyes surveyed Kenshin. "Until now." he added meaningfully.  
  
Kenshin didn't have a response to that, so Hiko plowed on ahead. "With two masters, the link would only be strengthened. Which is why you were able to sense my . . . that I was engaged in battle." He corrected his sentence rather hastily, looking momentarily non-plussed at his near admission. The rare sight caused Kenshin, despite his stunned state, to carefully conceal the rather suicidal urge to grin.  
  
"Anyway-" his master was saying, easily transferring his discomfort into irritation as he glared at the younger man "-the bottom line here is that you'd better stay out of trouble. Disturb my sleep again with another of your little spats, and you had better start running before I arrive. If I have to come all the way to Tokyo to LODGE a complaint, you'll regret it." He finished, his voice having an unmistakable note of doom in it, and leaving no doubt of the sincerity of his statement.  
  
Kenshin looked sheepish, but finally let his smile show. "Does this mean that you'll be coming to visit?" He asked, eyes wide and innocent. Hiko sputtered for a moment, then fell silent. He had been surprised. A rare feat, indeed.  
  
Visibly gathering his dignity about him, he finally flung up his hands in feigned disgust at all baka deshis in general, turning quickly so that his expression wouldn't give him away.  
  
"Well, what are you standing around for? Get off my mountain already." He said gruffly, his back still turned. He started to stomp toward his hut. "I have better things to do than talk to someone without enough brains to . . ." His voice quickly faded to half-heard mutters as he reached the hut. Pausing at the doorway, he lifted the cloth blocking the entrance. Just before it fell his dark-haired head turned slightly, affording Kenshin a brief glimpse of one ebony eye glittering behind the long fringe of his bangs. Then the rough cloth fell back into place, a thin but visible barrier between them.  
  
Kenshin just stood there, staring in amazed disbelief at the structure before him. Finally he seemed to come to himself, turned and started to make his way back down the path leading away from that small clearing and the shabby hut sitting quietly in the middle of it. He walked away from the place where he had grown up, trying to persuade himself as to whether or not the look of pride and approval he'd seen in that frozen moment had been real.  
  
**  
  
The breeze ruffled his bright hair, and the sounds of the forest surrounded him as paced forward. Lifting his face, Kenshin let the soothing sensations wash over him.  
  
There was still much to sort out, particularly with his own feelings. Soon he would be headed for his new home, where he had no doubt a rather painful welcome awaited him. He smiled ruefully. He would do his best to apologize for taking off without warning by himself, but he knew that he would say nothing of his master's need. He would keep the older man's dignity intact. He owed that much and more to him.  
  
Kenshin loved his friends dearly, and would always be the first to jump to their defense. They were as near and dear to him as any had ever gotten. However, no matter how close they were, there were some aspects of his nature that only another Hiten Mitsurugi master would be able to understand, much less accept. His past, for one, in all its complete and bleak detail. And most important of all, the vow to help the people and to cherish life in all its forms. Both concepts could easily clash, as he had found out, the hard way.  
  
Suffice it to say, that for all their seemingly opposite personalities and differences, they both knew and understood the other. Hiko had raised Kenshin, and taught him a way of looking at things that was uniquely their own.  
  
For his friends, and himself, he would live the life of Himura Kenshin, a former assassin and peace-loving warrior.  
  
But there would always and forever be a core part of him that would ever respond to his master as the often exasperated, but loyal, deshi. Some ties, can never be broken.  
  
  
  
----------------------  
  
Well, did you like it? A bit corny, but that's all right. Sometimes, that's the only way you can do something like this. I couldn't resist teasing that teasing scene. It was just so typical of their relationship.  
  
Tsi Tseng: From Japanese mythology. Supposedly a priest/monk that travels the underworld, easing the suffering of the dead there. He carries around a ringed staff (Khakkhara), announcing his presence by the sound of them clashing together. The legend varies as to who he/she is. The rings can vary from 4, 6, or even 12. Also called the Narn-staff.  
  
Tengu: a forest spirit, part man, part bird. It lives in trees and is known for mischief. Infamous for their trickery, they don't like being tricked in turn.  
  
If there are any loose ends I forgot to tie up, or if you think it would have been fun to go a certain way, please tell me. I know I missed a few things and it would be fun to know how you'd have done it. Who knows, maybe I'll write the ones I like up and present them as alternate chapters? ~_~  
  
This isn't all, folks. There's a little epilogue that you might enjoy too.^_^ 


	10. Epilogue

Ties of Loyalty  
  
By The Unseen Watcher  
  
Disclaimer: It's still not mine. Weren't you paying attention?  
  
Epilogue  
  
------------------  
  
The wiry man looked up from his desk, his yellow eyes showing his annoyance. The man before him, dressed in scarlet and sporting the world's strangest haircut, resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. He'd just been reporting to his superior the latest cases, and had brought up a rather small crime regarding burglary. His boss didn't look pleased by what was seen as a waste of his time.  
  
"I have already read the reports on that matter. Reviewing it again will make it no less trivial. The local authorities can take it care of it. I'll speak with whoever took it upon themselves to put it back on my desk later. Saitoh said coolly, his lips pressing together in irritation.  
  
Cho grinned crookedly. Some poor fool had filed that report in the wrong place, and would soon be regretting he ever thought up law enforcement as a career. It would be a good show. He scratched the side of his spiky- haired head and looked over the next item on his list.  
  
"Oh yeah. There's also a report of a couple 'a foreigners found just outside the Kyoto police headquarters. Two were tied up, and the bodies of two more were found dumped practically in the lap of some local yakuza boss, along with a whole bunch of his own cronies."  
  
Saitoh looked up, his rare interest piqued. "Ah, that incident. The report said that all four were sporting injuries caused by a sword."  
  
Cho nodded. "Yep, the medical report says that they all showed signs of blunt trauma. The living ones have several broken bones. A raid into the boss's lair showed several of his lackeys with similar injuries. 'Specially the hands. Not a one of them will be holding anything very steady for some time, I reckon."  
  
Saitoh's eyes narrowed, as he took a long draw from his ever-present cigarette. "Hmm. Blunt trauma and broken hands."  
  
"Yep, so it says. Sound familiar to you, boss?" Cho asked curiously, noting the older man's slightly distracted expression.  
  
Saitoh waved it off. "Continue." He commanded.  
  
Cho looked uncertain. "Are you sure this is somethin' you should be concerned about, sir?" He asked hesitantly. "Seems mainly like a case of lethal assault to me. Them foreigners musta had a fight with a local gang and failed."  
  
Saitoh looked at him coolly, one eyebrow raised derisively. "If that were true, they would all be dead from knife wounds and we'd have found them floating in the river, not at our doorstep Ahou." He paused, his eyes glowing thoughtfully. "From the description they appeared to have been take out by one, maybe two swordsman. The medical report, if you'd bother to read it more closely, verifies that. Two-" he drew out his own copy "- The background checks of all 4 revealed them to be professionals in their fields. Two were former Special Forces soldiers in their respective countries. The others were skilled hunters. I'm having people look into just how they got their weapons past the custom check now."  
  
Cho whistled. "You sure are ahead of me in this game, boss. It must have been some fighter that did them in."  
  
Saitoh propped his elbows on his desk, holding the papers between thumb and forefinger. "I took the liberty of examining the bodies of both living and dead myself, having heard about this several hours ago-." He gave Cho a look and the swordcollector grinned sheepishly. "-I have come to the conclusion that there is only one style of swordsmanship that could possibly have caused those injuries." He paused. "The fatal stokes were caused by a one strike attack by a katana, a fairly long one at that. The angle shows the user to be rather taller than usual. The men who survived were beaten by a fighter that either used the back of his sword-"  
  
"-Or one that was using a reversed blade."  
  
Cho's eyes widened. "You mean it was-!" he blurted.  
  
Saitoh nodded, eyes speculative. "Yes, I believe it was him. He plucked up another slip of paper, waving it idly in the other's general direction. "I have here a report from the Tokyo office, concerning the sudden disappearance of one Himura Kenshin." His mouth twisted sardonically. "Apparently, the Kamiya girl and her cohorts have been badgering the local police there for about a week now." His expression showed his disdain for what he viewed as useless inaction.  
  
"The question now is what could have been able to provoke the Battousai so much that he would cease to hold back as much as he has in recent years."  
  
Cho looked puzzled. "Holdin' back? Beggin' you pardon, sir, but what do ya mean by that?"  
  
Saitoh set down the report, steepling his fingers before his face, and cast a condescending look his sword-happy subordinate's way. "Ahou. You don't realize it, even now? When you fought him you hadn't the slightest idea what you were playing with. Had it been his intent to kill you, you wouldn't have lasted more than a few heartbeats. In the revolution he was known to take out opponents by the dozen with a single sword stroke. He faced swordsmen far wilier than you nightly. Rejoice in the fact that you were lucky enough to face him AFTER he decided to try to be a pacifist."  
  
Cho blinked, unnerved by his superior's blunt appraisal of his chances of survival. Shaking his head, he decided not to think about it just yet and get back to the matter at hand. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Then why now?" He asked.  
  
Saitoh snorted. "Obviously it has something to do with the second swordsman. The one who delivered the fatal blows."  
  
Cho's forehead wrinkled even more in worry. "There's another guy like Himura out there waving around his sword technique? Why haven't we heard of him before now?"  
  
Saitoh took another draw from his cigarette. "There were rumors, even during the revolution, of a master swordsman who lived on as small mountain just outside Kyoto. Most avoided the place, fearing that it was haunted. The Shinsengumi had no business there, so I never ventured near enough to confirm or deny local gossip. He was reported to be very much the recluse, and never openly participated in the fighting."  
  
He paused, his eyes reflective. "Rumor also had it, that that was where the Battousai learned his style."  
  
Cho whistled. "So, yer sayin' that Himura learned his art from this guy. Looks like he don't have the same reservations 'bout killin' like he does."  
  
"It appears not." Saitoh answered, his tone heavy with irony.  
  
"So who exactly is this guy anyway?" Cho asked curiously. Saitoh shrugged. "Little is known other than that he exists. I've been told that the man is quite unsociable, almost impossible to approach. I've also heard, however, that he cuts a rather distinctive figure."  
  
Cho thought about it, his forehead wrinkling under his broom-shaped hair. Then his face brightened and he nodded. "I think I heard somethin' about him. Overheard Himura's friends talkin' about him once. Says he was . . . a sheesh-show or somethin' like that."  
  
Saitoh's reaction was something to see. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline for a moment, his expression almost showing surprise, before returning to its normal mask. "Interesting." Was all he said.  
  
Cho was confused. It was a constant state around his boss. "What is?" He asked, now completely lost.  
  
Saitoh glanced at him then spoke, his eyes glinting thoughtfully in the dim light. "Shishou is an old term for master or sensei. Very few use it now. It was used more in swordsmanship than the hand-to-hand styles."  
  
Saitoh's eyes turned thoughtful. "What makes it distinct is that it was used primarily in those styles that pass only from one master to one student. Such styles were always few and far between, as they tend to die out if something unexpected happens to either of the two. It proves that the Hiten Mitusurugi Ryu is rare indeed."  
  
Cho nodded, wondering silently what the big deal was. "So, should we send some men to pick up the guy for questioning?" He asked.  
  
Saitoh thought about it, but then shook his head firmly in denial. "It would be a waste of manpower. I get the feeling that the man wouldn't hurt the officers too much, but one such as he would require my personal attention to be safe."  
  
Abruptly Saitoh looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he used his keen vision in an attempt to pierce through the shadows in the corners of his office. Not taking his eyes away from their gloom, he spoke to Cho. "You are dismissed for now. Leave."  
  
His eccentric subordinate looked around, wondering what could have caught such attention from his boss. He saw nothing, but didn't protest as he left. Saitoh didn't like to repeat his orders.  
  
After he had left, Saitoh sat back in his chair, arms resting casually by his sides. "I wondered when you would show up." He remarked to the room around him.  
  
There was a flicker of movement, and a shadow detached itself from the walls. Little could be seen of it but the general outline and the shine of eyes.  
  
Saitoh blew out a stream of smoke, eyeing the man opposite him. "I'm glad to see that you haven't lost your touch in Some of your skills." He remarked casually, seeming totally at ease.  
  
The shadow smiled humorously, a flash of white in the darkness, causing Saitoh to arch an eyebrow in slight surprise. Stepping out a bit further into the light, red hair glinted in the faint illumination of the office.  
  
"How did you detect my presence?" Himura asked calmly. His voice was lowered to its normal range, and there was nothing subservient or guileless about it. Saitoh's eyes narrowed speculatively at his use of the normal male pronoun. His own attitude changed accordingly, and he straightened in his chair.  
  
"There was a flicker in your emotional control when I mentioned getting involved personally. Other than that, I had no idea." He admitted honestly, the usual contempt gone from his tone as he addressed a fellow warrior.  
  
He continued. "I would like to know details about certain event regarding foreigners and yakuza." he said, changing the subject and fixing the other with a businesslike stare.  
  
Again that tight smile. "Some foreign thrill seekers, four in all, tried to have some fun by seeking out a worthy target for their little hunting expedition, hiring some local thugs as guides and muscle. They thought that they could take on a master of the Art. They were wrong, and now they've been taught differently. Some of the lessons were terminal." He recited, his tone matter of fact.  
  
"The fatalities are a result of self-defense and the defense of others. Namely myself."  
  
Saitoh listened, his eyes gleaming with interest though his face remained impassive. "So you're saying that they took on a master swordsman and lost?" He snorted. "Good riddance to idiots then."  
  
Himura paused, studying the police inspector intently. "Then you will not pursue this?" He asked. Saitoh met his gaze, his expression almost bored. "What is there to investigate? It's apparent that a few foreigners, slipping highly illegal weapons into the county, assaulted Japanese citizens. I doubt that any embassy in the world will want to claim such obvious incompetents as citizens, much less make any protests about their deaths. It would be most embarrassing to do so."  
  
"As for the yakuza, they're like rats. No one will miss a few and they'll multiply quickly enough."  
  
Himura looked at him. "Then that means no?" He pressed. Saitoh rolled his eyes in irritation. "No, I will not pursue this further." He stated clearly, biting out each word.  
  
The redhead nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Saitoh had given his word; his master would be left alone. His mission done, he stepped back into the shadows, intent on leaving.  
  
"Battousai." Saitoh called, stopping the shadow's exit.  
  
Saitoh stubbed out his cigarette, his face showing just the faintest hint of curiosity. "You don't seem that concerned that he killed several men before and after you arrived." He was guessing on the timetable, but his instincts told him that he was right.  
  
He was answered only by silence for a moment, then "You don't feel guilt over the death of those who die of natural causes. I admit to some regret, but I am slowly beginning to accept that I cannot be responsible for the decisions of others. They thought that they could mess with my Shishou. They were wrong. Suicidal idiots are to be pitied, not mourned." He stated bluntly, his voice low and without emotion.  
  
Saitoh raised one sardonic eyebrow, reaching for a new cigarette. "That good, is he? I wonder how I would fare against your master, Battousai." He mused, his eyes speculative as he lit up. They narrowed as he heard a humorless chuckle from the corner.  
  
"You would barely warm him up, Saitoh Hajime." The voice whispered. Then the presence was gone. Most likely back to his little make-believe world at that Dojo.  
  
Still, the one now calling himself Himura Kenshin was still a man whose opinion he respected. He would not have said what he did not believe to be true, and his voice had held absolute conviction. Eyes narrowing further, the former Shinsengumi captain sat in thought.  
  
Leaning back in his office chair, he murmured a belated farewell. "So long, Himura the Battousai. It was good to see you again, if only for a brief moment in time. I find it interesting that this particular incident would so thoroughly shake your peaceful façade. What else would, I wonder?"  
  
Allowing himself a dark smile of his own, Goro Fujita resumed reading reports.  
  
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No, that final part wasn't a promissory note for future fics. It was just something that I thought he might do. However, if it inspires others to write fics about it, I'd be more than happy to see them come out. More power to you all. I hope you enjoyed this story, despite the delays and snags. See you. 


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